ab igne ignem capere
by Sangi
Summary: In another world, Azula was born first. In another world, Azula wasn't the favorite.
1. it's now or never again

**9/15/2012**

**Important Note:**

I have not updated this fanfiction in about two years. I do have intentions of returning to it one day, but my writing style has changed. There are many things that I want to modify about this fic: plot inconsistencies, grammar mistakes, and just poor writing, to name a few. Before I can think about updating, I would need to rewrite the majority of what is here. However, I am currently very busy and do not foresee this re-write getting finished any time soon. It's a slow-going project. I apologize to the loyal readers who are looking forward to the day this will be updated again; as of right now, I don't know when I can get around to this fic. I thought I should note this all here for old and new readers alike. Thank you.

* * *

**Title:** ab igne ignem capere  
**Chapter Title:** it's now or never again  
**Author:** honestly_sangi / Sangi  
**Prompt:** 31_days at livejournal; june 22nd: it's now or never again  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own A:TLA or anything contained within or related to it.  
**Word Count: **4133  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters: **Azula, Iroh, rest of Fire Nation royal family  
**Author's Notes:** This is my idea of an alternate universe in which Azula was born first, is generally unloved, and turns out to be a kind-of hero. This is part one out of unknown. Out of character? Possibly. Character is relative, right?

Ab igne ignem capere -  
To light a fire with fire  
- Cicero

* * *

0.

In another world, Azula was born first. In another world, Azula wasn't the favorite.

* * *

1.

In a moment, the screaming ends and the wailing begins. The two sounds are so different, Iroh muses, that they really cannot be compared. His feet are wearing away at the ground as he paces outside the birthing room, waiting somewhat-patiently for the door to open.

It has been a difficult birth, Iroh knows, because it has taken so long. His wife's birth had been difficult – too difficult, for she had given life only to lose her own. He can still remember the smell of stale death and the comforting weight of his son in his arms.

Ozai is nowhere in sight, and has not been there for any of the birth.

He frowns at the bad memories and thoughts before shaking his head, scattering his thoughts. He paces the floor, and hopes that Ursa's birth had not been as difficult as his wife's.

At long last, the hinges of the door creak open. The midwife steps out, her hair in disarray and the wrinkles on her face prominent. She beckons him in.

The Dragon of the West steps into the room (in the background he can see Ursa, apparently sleeping on the bed), ignores the smell of birth and mess and miracles, and watches as a maid approaches him, a small bundle in her arms; she carefully puts the bundle in his waiting arms.

Gold eyes, sleepy and startling in their intensity, stare up at him. It isn't altogether unexpected, as children of the Royal Family always have golden eyes at birth, but there's something so different and unusual about them that he is utterly captivated.

"It's a girl," the maid says, indifference painting her face bleak. "Her name is Azula."

"Azula," Iroh breathes, and her hand reaches for him, grasping at nothing.

* * *

2.

After six hours, and no visit from his brother, Iroh goes out to find him. He reluctantly leaves the little baby girl whose eyes were so captivating. She had not cried except for in the few moments after her birth, and she simply lay down, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.

Her eyes were so gold that they glowed in the darkness.

Iroh leans against the doorway to his younger brother's study and watches as he works steadily through a pile of papers on the corner of his desk. The scrolls on the shelves are meticulously organized, as is everything in Ozai's life. Iroh frowns.

"Ozai," he says, and his brother hesitantly looks up. In that moment, Iroh knows the truth of Ozai. In his eyes he can see fear and indifference warring. Indifference wins.

"Yes, brother?" Ozai asks, adding the 'brother' for spite. In his hand he grasps the brush he is writing with.

"You have a daughter, brother," Iroh announces, returning the favor.

Ozai is not pleased when he learns the news. Iroh watches carefully as the man clenches and unclenches his fist, and he barely has to wonder to know what he is thinking – _a daughter? A daughter?_

Iroh would give everything for a daughter.

After a minute of pregnant silence, the man relaxes, and the Dragon of the West can see the cogs turning in his mind, can see him re-thinking strategy and plans and everything found in between.

"Very well." The prince says, and his head drops back down to the paperwork he had previously been working on.

Iroh leaves, after a few moments of silence, to look in on Ursa. She has been crying since the baby was born, and she will not stop for a long time.

* * *

3.

For the first time in weeks, he enters before she has fallen asleep. Ursa waits as he undresses, moderating her breathing, both to calm herself down and to fool him into thinking she is asleep. The soft _shush_ of silk robes only makes her more anxious, only makes her heartbeat accelerate more.

So she waits, laying on her back with the covers pulled up to her chest; she waits for Ozai to come and join her.

He takes his time, shuffling about the room, but he finally pulls back the covers on his side of the bed (_so far away, _she longingly thinks) and settles in on his back, like he always does.

Before, he would let her lay next to him, and she would curl around him, and his hand would rest on the small of her back…

Ursa's stomach is twisting and turning and she is so nervous, but she has to do this – "I'm sorry," she says to the darkness in front of her face.

Across the expanse of the bed Ozai shifts. She knows he is listening. "I'm so sorry," she continues, her voice shaking with nerves and sadness and remorse.

There is no response.

The lonely and sad woman turns her head to face him, to see him, but she can see nothing but the shadow of his body. "It's okay," she promises, scooting her body closer, to be closer, closer, "we can try again." Her gold eyes burn in the darkness. "We can try again," she repeats.

Silence.

Ursa moves her body a bit closer, and reaches out her hand – "Ozai?" she asks quietly, probingly –

He turns over on to his side, his back facing her. The light drains out of her eyes as she stares at his back, and something inside Ursa breaks.

Her hand falls to the sheets between them.

* * *

4.

"There is something different about her," Lu Ten says, looking at the baby in the crib in front of him. Azula is awake, eyes wide and curious, her mouth unmoving. Lu Ten laughs at her silence, and she smiles suddenly, and it is breathtakingly innocent and yet poignant.

"Yes," Iroh agrees from the table he is sitting at on the floor. A pai-sho board is set up on the low table, the pieces disordered, out of the formation they had been in earlier. A teapot and two empty cups rest next to it.

Lu Ten looks over his shoulder at his father, a smile quirking his mouth. "I was certainly never this quiet as a child," he chuckles, and Iroh laughs.

Iroh rests his hand on his palm, watching as his son teases and tickles the young baby. "No, you certainly were not afraid to make your opinion known," he reminisces.

Lu Ten laughs, a deep, throaty laugh that is one of Iroh's favorite sounds, and Azula gurgles from her crib. The time he gets to spend with son is rare these days, and he enjoys it greatly.

The younger firebender carefully extracts the small girl from her blankets and holds her up. She wriggles under his scrutiny, but makes no noise. Her eyes watch his, blinking occasionally. Finally, her brows crease as she moves, trying to get more comfortable in this not-very-comfortable position.

He tucks her into the shoulder of his arm, and makes his way back over the table. He cautiously sits down on one of the embroidered red cushions, making sure he has a hold in Azula, and settles her in his lap.

Her curious hands reach out shakily to the pai-sho board, and she grabs one of the tiles, turning it over in her hands and looking at it with wonder. Lu Ten wrestles it out of her grip, chuckling as she frowns. "Ah, so the white lotus is your choice?" He asks teasingly as she reaches her hand for it once again.

"That is my favorite tile too," Iroh comments even as his hands reach out to hold the teapot, warming the tea. Azula turns her head at the sound of his voice, eyes twinkling in interest.

The Dragon of the West smiles, and Azula gurgles delightedly and grins back.

* * *

5.

Ursa stands next to the crib her child rests in and feels conflicted. Her daughter is sleeping peacefully, the soft tuft of hair at the top of her head sticking out in all directions, and she makes soft, contented sounds every once and awhile.

There is a part of her that loves this child, that unconditionally loves her for being her daughter and connected to her in a way no one else is. This part of her yearns to hold her child, to teach her to talk and walk, and to cuddle with her just to smell the scent of her hair, just to hold her close.

The woman lets her hand softly trace the soft skin of Azula's face. She sighs softly into the darkness of the night.

There is a part of her that hates this child, that hates her for being the reason for her husband's hatred and virtual disappearance from her life, and for being a girl; above all, for being a girl when she should have been a boy.

Part of her hates this child because Ozai is present in every part of her – the tilt of her eyes, the slant of her brows, the curl of her mouth. This part of her knows showing favor to an un-favored child will only give her more grief, and that her only chance at reuniting with her husband lies in conceiving another child, a better child - a boy.

Her hand wanders up to touch the smooth hair, to touch it and feel its gentleness.

Azula opens her eyes, and they latch immediately onto the other pair of golden eyes in the obscurity of the dark.

Ursa gasps; her daughter's eyes are intense and unyielding, yet they are innocent and guileless, and most of all - _oh_, most of all – they are not judging her. They are curious and sleepy, and they blink several times before closing again.

Azula is smiling.

Ursa stands in almost-silence, her breathing harsh and ragged as she tries not to cry. She watches her daughter fall back asleep, realizing that she has already missed so much. And she will miss much more.

"I'm sorry," she whispers brokenly, and leaves the room. She does not look back.

* * *

6.

Ozai enters the room as he always does: with presence, but subtly. He slides the door open carefully, his sock-clad feet making no discernible sound. His gold eyes are narrowed as he stares around the nursery, a room both foreign and familiar to him.

He had spent his childhood here, forever in the shadow of his older brother. His lip curls his face into a sneer as he remembers some of his least favorite times.

Mentally shaking himself out of his reminiscing, he glances around the room, discovering the maid in charge of taking care of Azula was sitting near the doors to the courtyard outside, Azula sitting next to her. The maid was explaining something to her, but he was far away enough that he could not hear.

He made to move toward them, but the floorboards creak as he had moved his body in their direction. The sound had startled the maid, and she had turned around and was standing up and shaking out her skirts before hurrying to him.

"My Lord," she said hastily, bowing repeatedly, amber eyes wide in fear, "excuse me my ignorance. I did not hear you enter."

Ozai waves a hand at her to be silent, and she bows her head, staring determinedly at the ground. His daughter has turned around, looking at the intrusion. The fading sunlight frames her face, and her hair is curling around her chin.

Azula's eyes are gold and curious as they stare at him, and within her hands she grasps something with her grubby fingers. She does not make a noise.

His feet move him toward her, attracted as a moth is attracted to light in the darkness. There is something about her that is entrancing – the innocence in her eyes, the quietness in her being – and he is disgusted with himself for falling into the trap.

As he stops in front of her, he looks down to meet her eyes; Azula stares straight up at him. Slowly, she smiles, and he frowns at this response. Her smiles are given too freely.

"What is she holding?" He asks the maid. The maid skitters for a moment, then –

"A doll, my Lord, given by one of the general's wives at the announcement of her birth."

His face twists into a parody of a sneer, and he reaches out, snatching the doll out of her hands. Ozai examines it; it has the green eyes of an Earth Kingdom girl, and black hair carefully combed and styled.

In little more than a moment, it burns in his hands.

"She is not to have dolls," Ozai states. The maid nods her head repeatedly, and bows again, this time lower than the last.

His daughter is frowning now, her brows furrowed unmistakably and her mouth set in an angry, flat line. The prince turns to leave.

Azula's stare follows him out of the room.

* * *

7.

The tea is oolong, and Ursa likes oolong tea. It had been her mother's favorite tea, when she had been alive, and she had spent many days with her mother in the gardens drinking oolong tea. _There are worse teas than oolong_, she muses.

Iroh watches her face as she sips her tea delicately, noticing the lines around her eyes and mouth that had not been there months before. His sister-in-law and he had never been close, but she was a kind woman. Or so he thought.

"How have you been, Ursa?" He ventures quietly, watching as she sets down her tea, hand shaking slightly.

She smoothes down the silk of her robes before answering. "I've been doing very well. Thank you, Iroh. Lately I have been studying classical poetry in my spare time."

"Oh? I did not know that poetry interested you so." Iroh says, eyes carefully taking in the nervous movements of her hands, the sadness in her eyes.

"Yes, I greatly enjoy poetry." That is a lie, and they both know it. But Iroh know that Ozai likes classical poetry, paradox that it is. He frowns slightly as he heats up his tea minutely with his hands before drinking some.

There is a flash of movement that distracts him from his next comment, followed by loud noises; Iroh and Ursa both turn their heads to see Lu Ten tumble out of the nursery doors, holding Azula above his head, spinning her in circles. She is giggling loudly, and the maid is tittering behind them, watching with a poorly concealed smile.

Ursa's face darkens. Not with the anger that usually darkens his brother's face, but with sadness and longing, and a bit of remorse.

"Azula is a very happy child." _For now._

"Yes," Ursa answers.

Iroh sips his oolong. "The maid informs me that Ozai forbid her to have any dolls."

"Yes," Ursa answers. "Ozai thinks such things… frivolous."

For a few minutes they watch Iroh's son and Ursa's daughter playing in the courtyard, the soft light of the morning making their faces glow. Time passes, and the sun soon reaches its high point. He can still hear muted giggling and laughing and the sound of pure happiness. The maid calls Lu Ten and Azula back in for lunch, and they make their way over, Lu Ten cradling Azula in his arms.

Longing shadows Ursa's face as she watches them retreat.

Iroh watches Ursa gaze at her daughter disappearing back inside the palace. "Why don't you visit your daughter, Ursa?" Her head swings back around, and then her panicked eyes are staring into his.

She does not answer. Ursa chews on her bottom lip.

"Why do you not visit Azula?"

Her fingers tighten on her cup of tea, and she looks away.

* * *

8.

It is summer in the Fire Nation, and the heat is stifling, practically suffocating. Lu Ten frowns, wiping the sweat from his brow. His bare chest is sweating also, and the sun's glare flashes off of it.

Taking a deep breath, he puts himself into a basic firebending stance. He pushes his hand forward, twisting his open palm, and – _flashes of red and orange and yellow _– the air ignites in a blaze, evaporating the water in the air around it.

Azula watches from the ground, clapping her hands in glee. The sight of the fire entrances her, captivates her, and she cannot look away as Lu Ten twists and turns, going through his routine practice in the morning.

His body moves as if it is a dance, sliding one way and then another, letting his fire free and allowing his bending to move him. His hands move as if casting a spell, sporadically blasting fire into the air.

In the grass that stains her clothes green, Azula sits, and her eyes follow the motions of his hands as if it is of utmost importance, similar to how a cat watches the flight of a bird. She blinks curiously as Lu Ten finishes, body back in his original stance, breathing heavily in the humid heat of a Fire Nation morning.

His head turns to look at the young child, and smiles even as he pants. "So you like firebending, huh, Azula?" Lu Ten asks, and laughs when she merely cocks her head to the side, apparently bemused.

He makes his way toward her, and crouches down on the grass in front of her. "Look cousin," he whispers as he holds out his hand. Azula's eyes are riveted to his palm, and in a moment there is a flash and a small fire is resting there, burning steadily in the absence of a breeze. She reaches out her own hand, grasping to reach the flame –

Lu Ten laughs again, and pulls his hand back, and then the fire is gone and Azula is frowning. "Don't play with fire," he warns, his eyes dancing, "you'll get burned."

Azula, still sulking, thrusts her arm out and opens her palm, and waits. Nothing happens. Her face turns up to him, beseeching and searching, and she opens and closes her palm in vain.

His face softens and he picks her up, tucking her safely into his arms, and makes his way back toward the nursery. "Don't worry," he assures, "one day you will firebend."

Her eyes blink up at him, and she makes a soft sound of contentment as he lays her down on her blankets. "One day," he promises, and she smiles softly before falling asleep.

* * *

9.

Ursa steps out into the sunshine, sliding the door shut behind her. Shading her eyes with her hand, she spies someone near her pond; it is the nursery maid, the nursery maid and her daughter.

Her feet bring her to a stop, and she freezes as the maid speaks. Stepping into the shadows, she listens.

"Those are the turtle ducks, Azula," the maid explains seriously, resting in the shade of a tree next to a pond in a courtyard. Next to her, Azula leans against her leg, eyes curious as she looks at the strange creatures.

Absently, the maid throws some bread, the remnants of their picnic lunch, into the pond. The turtle ducks dive and push each other out of the way to get to the bread, and it is quickly gobbled up in a feeding frenzy.

"They are peaceful creatures," the woman continues, "and in the spring, their babies are born." Her fingers point out some of the small turtle ducks. "See those?" She asks needlessly, as Azula's head doesn't move, and she simply stares at the pond. "Those are the babies that were born this past spring."

Azula moves her head to look up at the maid, and she curiously reaches out to hold the finger that had been pointing. She pulls on the finger and the maid laughs, a chime-like sound that is beautiful in its lightness.

The maid picks the girl up and places her in her lap, and Azula rests her head against the maid's stomach, eyes sleepily blinking.

"Eventually, the baby turtle ducks must leave their family and go away to find their own home." The maid pushes back a strand of hair from the little child's face. "But until then, their mother stays with them and protects them."

In the shade of another tree, Ursa has her fist clenched in front of her mouth, and she desperately tries not to cry. _You know the consequences, _her mind warns, _you know the repercussions_.

The maid sighs softly, disturbing the pervading quiet. "Well, then," she murmurs, and carefully picks up Azula in one hand, and the empty picnic basket in the other. "I should put you down for you afternoon nap."

She turns, only to see the Lady Ursa not far away, quietly and slowly making her way toward the pond.

The maid awkwardly bows, cautious not to drop her precious cargo, and looks back up the Lady Ursa, who has always been kind to her. "My Lady, I'm sorry. I did not hear you approach."

Ursa smiles softly, almost pained, and her eyes are locked on the little girl sleeping peacefully in her arms. "Oh! Azula is such a nice child," she exclaims, hoping to please the mother, "she is so quiet and is not a bother to take care of at all." She smiles at Lady Ursa. "She is such a curious child. She is more intelligent than most children."

"Yes," Ursa agrees gently, tearing her eyes away from her daughter. "Continue on." And the Lady walks forward, ignoring the bowing maid, hoping that she doesn't break down.

"Strange," the maid murmurs and heads back to the nursery.

In the pond, the mother turtle duck herds her babies. She pushes the other turtle ducks away when Ursa tosses them food, and protects them when they fight over the bread.

And she can't help to wonder how things could have been different. It should have been her, she knows, it should have been her holding Azula in the garden.

(_You know the consequences, _her mind warns, _you know the repercussions_.)

* * *

10.

Azulon watches his son as he sits before him, head bowed deferentially and hands clenched lightly in his lap. He watches through the flames and smirks. He had called his son here, and it made his son nervous.

"Yes, my Lord?" His son asks, eyes venturing up to look at him cautiously. "You called me here?"

Azulon takes a moment to answer, and instead sneers at the anxious look on his younger son's face. "I have met your child. Your daughter. Azula."

Ozai remains silent.

"She is quite a precocious child. It is too bad," he says, "that she is but a girl." A girl could become Fire Lord, of course, but a boy is always highly preferred. It has been so many generations since a girl had ascended to the throne that it is impossible to count.

"Yes," Ozai agrees heartily from his almost-prostate position on the ground in front of the dais.

Azulon shifts in his throne, and the fire glints off of his headpiece. "She reminds me of you when you were a child." Weak, insufficient, nothing but a disappointment. "But Azula is so dissimilar from all of the Royal Family's children, is she not?"

Ozai nods his head noticeably. "She is very different, my Lord."

"She is so quiet, and little can get a reaction out of her. None of the other children were that way. Most were angry and rash little children," Azulon muses, and Ozai knows what he is really trying to say: _Your daughter is flawed. _"It is a pity."

"Yes, my Lord, it is a pity."

Following there are moments of silence, the only sound the crackling of the fire that surrounds the throne. It flickers like a candle, but burns steadily and shadows Azulon's face. "That is all," he finally says. "You may leave, Ozai."

"My Lord?" Ozai asks, straightening out, brushing off the silk robes. On his face there is a small smirk that Azulon thinks is unwarranted at this point.

"Yes, my son?" Azulon asks carelessly, but carefully watches his son's small smirk grow until he almost-resembles Azulon. Sadly, arrogance becomes Ozai.

Ozai can feel his father's stare although he cannot see his face. "I have news for you, father," he says, and it takes effort not to sneer.

"Oh?"

_Yes, _Ozai thinks, _oh, yes_. "My wife, the Lady Ursa, is again with child."

Azulon freezes in his movement, and it is then that Ozai knows he has him. _Another child?_ Ozai imagines him wondering. _So soon? _With a final bow, Ozai leaves the room grinning wildly.

But a smirk blooms on Azulon's face, and his laugh is deep and dangerous as it rings clearly throughout the throne room. "Very good, my soon," he murmurs. "Very good."


	2. floating in empty space

**Title:** ab igne ignem capere  
**Chapter Title: **floating in empty space  
**Author:** honestly_sangi / Sangi  
**Prompt:** 31_days ; june 24th: floating in empty space  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own A:TLA or anything contained within or related to it.  
**Word Count: **6597**  
****Rating:** T  
**Characters: **Azula, Iroh, rest of Fire Nation royal family  
**Author's Notes:** This is my idea of an alternate universe in which Azula was born first, is generally unloved, and turns out to be a kind-of hero.

In this chapter we introduce Zuko and another familiar character. I'm not sure how long this fic will be, but I'm imagining there will be more than ten chapters, considering that I'm writing until the end of the war and I'm just getting to Zuko's birth. I also have several interludes on various characters planned, showing how their lives diverge in this world from the main Avatar-verse. It should be updated regularly and finished before the end of the summer, because I am doing nothing this summer and will by and large have a lot of free time.

Thank you again to everyone who has read so far, and to those who are reading now.

Ab igne ignem capere -  
To light a fire with fire  
- Cicero

_How I couldn't be what you need / but oh how I could make you bleed  
- _Vienna Teng, Antebellum

* * *

0.

For as long as she can remember, Azula has had a younger brother.

His name is Zuko.

* * *

1.

Iroh is playing pai-sho with his son when he spots Ursa across the courtyard. He moves forward one of his jasmine tiles before smiling triumphantly at his son, who is now puzzling over his next move.

"Lady Ursa!" Iroh's voice booms through the empty spaces of the garden and startles the woman, and she turns around, looking for the origin of the noise. She sees Iroh, sitting at the low table with Lu Ten, and smiles lightly. "Come join us for tea, Ursa. We are drinking ginseng this morning." His voice carries over the distance, and her smile widens.

Taking small steps, and carefully watching not to trip, his brother's wife makes her way over to sit on a low, gold cushion. Lu Ten finishes his move (he pushes forth his wheel tile to overtake the jasmine tile – little does he know he just fell into the trap), and turns to Ursa, grinning. "It's been awhile since you've joined us for tea, Aunt Ursa."

She nods and gracefully accepts the cup of tea Iroh hands her. She takes a sip; it is lukewarm, and strong, but she likes it that way.

"I have been busy, nephew," she says after a few moments.

Iroh takes this opportunity to voice his thoughts. While moving his white jade tile, he comments, "Yes, my brother has told me that you are with child again. Congratulations, sister."

Ursa's golden eyes are slightly suspicious as she observes him, but he appears sincere, so she smiles radiantly. "Thank you. I am a bit worried, it is so early in the pregnancy…" she lets her voice trail off.

Lu Ten, hand scratching the back of his neck as he tries to pick his next move, is so engrossed that he says nothing. "You and the baby will be fine, Ursa," Iroh comforts, and she sends him a relieved look.

"Ah-ha!" Lu Ten cries out, and they both turn to look at him. In his hand he holds Iroh's white lotus tile, and after a moment they can see that he had taken it with his white dragon tile. "I win this time, father," he teases, but Iroh doesn't mind.

"Ah, your abilities have bloomed, have they not? That is the third time you have beaten me this week." Iroh remarks, and together they clear the tiles and fold the board.

Ursa feels out of place during their exchange. Their easy banter is something that is hard for her to understand; the relationships that she had with her parents were quite different, more formal – and she has no relationship to speak of with her daughter. Her hand rests lightly against the small bump of her stomach, and she hopes that she can do more for this child than the first.

She is so distracted by her thoughts that Iroh's voice surprises her. "More tea?" he asks, holding the pot in his hand.

"Yes," she answers, and he pours her more ginseng tea. It is bitter. She likes it that way.

* * *

2.

"I suppose you are too young to understand the significance of this statement," Iroh expounds, and Azula watches as his mouth moves into funny shapes, "but you are going to have a brother soon."

The little girl picks up a block of wood, promptly inserts it into her mouth, and begins to chew with the few teeth that she has. Iroh allows this, because he can still remember the long months in which Lu Ten had been teething. Azula had been a late starter, but she didn't make a big fuss over it, which pleased mostly everyone.

She continues to gnaw on the wood as Iroh talks. "This means that you are going to have many responsibilities that you did not have before."

Azula stops chewing, drooling a bit on the wood, and she raises both of her brows, as if to suggest, _Oh, really?_

"I would know," Iroh continues, ignoring Azula's impertinence, "I was once the elder child as well." _And that went over well, didn't it? _His mind mocks.

Yes, he had been the elder brother. And Ozai had been the younger brother, the weaker and less important brother; an extra, a replacement in case something happened to the first. Ozai had never forgiven him that.

In the few moments he had been pondering, he had thoroughly lost Azula's attention. She is now lying on her back, block of wood forgotten next to her, eyes staring absently at the ceiling. The little princess is no doubt dirtying and rumpling the ornate gold and red dress they had garbed her in for afternoon tea.

"Azula," Iroh says, and she obediently sits up and looks at him. Her hair ornament is crooked, and he reaches out to fix it. She curiously watches as he adjusts it until the flower ornament in her hair sits at exactly the right angle.

Her eyes regard him as they sit there, across from one another. Iroh is sitting on the floor, legs crossed underneath one another. Azula sits with her legs sticking out straight in front of her, and he can see her tiny feet, and she is very much a young girl all dressed up with no place to go.

"You are such a bright child," the Dragon of the West murmurs, and Azula wriggles her toes in response. "It is a pity that you are not truly appreciated." She nods her head, as if she actually understands what he is saying.

It is so contrary that Iroh laughs suddenly, full of hope and wonder and possibly admiration. "Well, then. That seems to be settled, doesn't it?" He pulls her into his lap, and Azula rests comfortably against his belly, eyes closing.

"Oh?" He asks, and Azula nuzzles her head against him. "You would like a story?" He smiles. "Hmm… well, we could start at the beginning…"

Iroh can remember a journey in his youth, and the wonder of the first firebenders – the wonder of seeing dragons - and what he had done to ensure their safety.

"Once, I fought and conquered the last dragon."

* * *

3.

The mirror sits in front of her, gilded a shimmery gold. Up the sides of the mirror is an intricate pattern of dragons chasing each other, fire shooting out at intervals. The mirror is meant to remind the person viewing it of the strength and power of the Fire Nation; the same strength and power that would make the Royal Family so great.

Ursa sits in front of the mirror every night as she removes the ornaments from her hair, as she carefully unpins and sometimes unbraids it, or as she takes it out of a top-knot, and as she brushes it out afterwards to lay down her back, almost reaching her waist.

She hates the mirror. She hates the mirror for the same reason that she cannot bear to see her daughter; the mirror reminds her of Ozai's strength. The mirror reminds her of her own weakness, of the crucial mistake she had made in her past – the mistake that led her here, the mistake that changed the course of her life.

The door opens almost silently, except for the soft padding of feet. Ursa pauses in her brushing for less than a moment, and then she continues, her hands shaking slightly as she runs the brush through her long hair. _One, two, three…_ she counts the strokes. She finishes at one hundred.

Throughout her brushing, she has listened to Ozai's movements. A soft shuffling signifies that he is taking off his robes; a gentle creaking is him opening the armoire to take out the pants that he wears to bed. His padded feet make their way to the elevated bed, and she can hear him pull back the covers and lay down (on his back).

Most of the rooms have servants attached to them to help in the dressing and disrobing that comes with the life of the court, but Ozai had dismissed their servants. He did not want anyone else in the room to help him dress. Ursa has servants to do her hair and help her put on some of her more intricate robes.

Ozai shifts in the bed. Ursa puts down the brush on the vanity.

He says nothing to her as she stands and makes her way to the bed, says nothing as she mounts the few short stairs that allow her up onto the platform. The woman quietly pulls back the covers and slips between the silk sheets of their bed.

Neither of them is asleep, and they both know it. "Ozai?" she asks after a few minutes.

No response.

She moves her body closer – just to touch the warmth of his body, oh the warmth – and her hand stretches out to reach for his shoulder. He does not move away from her, but he does not move toward her either.

Finally, her hand touches the warmth of his shoulder. Ozai does not push it way. She takes this as permission to come closer, until her body is curled softly around his, until her hand is covering his heartbeat – he has one, she assures herself.

Somewhat reluctantly, Ozai's arm comes up to rest on the small of her waist. Ursa nuzzles her nose against the crook of his shoulder.

Ozai speaks to the darkness of the ceiling. "You will not spoil our child. You will not weaken him."

Ursa clenches her eyes shut. The woman hates this, she hates this weakness that she forces herself to give in to… the sound of his voice, his almost-approval… she nods her head alongside his chest.

* * *

4.

Ursa goes into labor during afternoon tea in the beginning of winter.

She is sipping her tea – an Earth Kingdom green tea that tastes slightly like bitter lemongrass – when the cup simply slips out of her grasp as her hands shoot straight to her burgeoning stomach.

Her eyes are wide when she looks up at the panicked maid stationed in the corner of the room. "I just had a contraction," she gasps – and it isn't it too early? she should still have a couple of weeks until the baby comes – and before she knows it she has been rushed to a room with a comfortable bed and steaming water and a woman who is pressing a soft, wet cloth to her forehead and murmuring comforting nothings in her ear.

The second labor goes much quicker than the first one, she has been told, and Ursa comforts herself with this fact. She lies on the bed in a room full of people, but she feels completely alone.

Letting out a sigh, she closes her eyes and breathes: _in and out, in and out._

Outside the room wait Iroh and Lu Ten; Iroh is pacing, similarly to how he had paced during Azula's birth, and Lu Ten is waiting on a bench, his elbows resting on his knees, his head resting on his palms.

Many hours pass as they wait. There is a noticeable dullness in the rug where Iroh has been tirelessly pacing.

"Aunt Ursa will be alright, won't she?" A tremulous voice asks, and with startling clarity Iroh realizes that it is his son who asks this question. His face is pale from the sounds of screaming and pain, and Iroh remembers that he is very barely a man, still a boy, really.

"She will be fine. You will see," Iroh promises and something releases itself within Lu Ten's chest at these words. He smiles uncertainly at his father; his eyes un-focus as the screaming starts again.

They wait for many more hours, and finally Iroh tires enough that he joins his son on the bench, head leaning back against the wall. The screaming continues.

In a moment, the screaming ends, choked off. Lu Ten's head shoots up, but Iroh simply turns his head in the direction of the doorway.

The wailing then begins.

_Ah, there it is, _Iroh thinks. Lu Ten's face whips around to meet his, and there is a large grin blessing his face. "Is that… the baby?" he asks, his voice hesitant and unsure.

Iroh chuckles. "Yes, my son. That is your new cousin, and my new nephew."

Lu Ten frowns. "He's certainly much louder than Azula is." _Most children are quite unlike Azula, _Iroh thinks.

The act of the door opening deters him from making a response, and they both turn to look as a hassled-looking woman comes out. Her hair is wild and in several places stuck to her forehead by the slight sheen of sweat covering her, soaking through her clothes.

"You may come in. Be quiet, please," she admonishes as Lu Ten almost knocks over the bench in his enthusiasm to see the new baby.

By the time Iroh has entered the room, Lu Ten is holding the baby, staring at him as he wails loudly. He looks largely uncomfortable, much more uncomfortable and less enthusiastic than he had been a minute before. As soon as he sees his father, he quickly pushes the baby off on him.

"His name is Zuko," Lu Ten says.

The moment Iroh holds Zuko in his arms he knows that this child will be nothing like Azula. His eyes are set at a different slant, his mouth is set in a mulish line, and there is something dark and brooding about him. There is innocence in his eyes, but no curiosity. The moment Iroh holds Zuko in his arms… he knows he will be Ozai's child.

He catches the quiet murmuring of the midwife in the background, and he looks up. Ursa looks quietly upset, and as the midwife turns around, her eyes meet his. They are sad and filled with regret.

The maid flutters near his brother's wife, whispering softly in quickly in slightly comforting tones. "My Lady, do not worry - do not fret. There are herbs, treatments… there is still a chance that you will be able to bear children yet again…"

But Ursa's face turns to the side, facing him. Her eyes are wide but they see nothing.

_Yes, _Iroh thinks. _This child will be Ozai's_.

* * *

5.

Azulon observes his oldest son as he sits across from him. Iroh is sipping the tea, tasting it for quality and level of preparation. It clearly meets his approval, because after a moment he nods his head, and sets the cup down. With this, Azulon takes a sip, closing his eyes to savor the taste, before also setting down his cup.

Iroh is observing him sagely. "I assume you called me here to do more than have tea with you."

Azulon smirks. His eldest has always been intelligent, more temperate than rash. "Yes," he replies. "I wish to talk to you about the war effort in the Earth Kingdom."

His son's brows rise in surprise. It has been many years since he has served in the army, and he has somewhat settled down with the death of his wife and the birth his son, who will probably enter the army soon. Settled life has suited him quite well, but he confesses privately that lately he has become restless. He misses the adventure of his youth.

"I am not aware of how the campaign is going in the Earth Kingdom. Can you enlighten me, father?"

Azulon smirks as he picks up and takes another sip of tea. "For the past year, things have gone relatively well. Most of the western areas have fallen under our control, and our greatest challenge so far has been Omashu." This is expected; Omashu is a city protected by ancient earthbender secrets, and is a center for the earthbender themselves. "However, last spring we began to attack Ba Sing Se in the hopes of bringing down its walls."

Iroh smiles. He takes a sip of tea; a white variety that had been popular among the air nomads when they had been alive, one that tasted somewhat like lilacs and a fresh breeze. "How is that going?"

Azulon's fists clench unhappily. "We have had little to no success. Several generals have had to pay the price of failure."

His son sets down his cup and watches him for awhile before asking, "What do you want of me, father?"

"I want you to command the new forces and technology I am sending to Ba Sing Se. I want you to tear down the walls. I want you to conquer Ba Sing Se… I want you to conquer the Earth Kingdom." Azulon states calmly. Iroh's face gives little away. His eyes have turned wary, almost suspicious. His eldest has always been intelligent.

Iroh finally bows his head in acquiescence. "Yes, father. I live but to serve the Fire Nation." _Are we all such pawns? _He wonders.

"Very well, my son. Do not disappoint me. I want you to leave with the troops, in the morning."

Iroh bows his head once again, and, finishing off his tea, he stands and bows from the waist. "Of course." He walks across the wood floors, his feet making nary a sound. As he reaches the doorway:

"Oh, Iroh?" Azulon asks idly as he warms up the tea, and then empties the remainder of it into his mouth. "Take Lu Ten with you. It is time that boy got some war experience."

The Dragon of the West's hands clench on the wood of the door before sliding it shut. "Yes, father."

* * *

6.

The sun is rising, and it paints the dawn red and orange with purple streaks and tinges of pink around the edges. The air still retains the chill of the night, and padded feet quickly make their way through the hallways. Iroh walks with a purpose, determinedly heading for the nursery.

The door slides open easily and silently, and he makes his way across the room to the carved crib that Azula sleeps in. When he reaches it, he looks down, only to have golden eyes meet his. He smiles at the sleepy child resting in the bed, almost two years old now. She grins back at him and hmms softly, reaching her hand out to see if she can touch his face.

He plucks her out of the crib and nestles her in his arms – she is getting heavy, and is bigger than she was when Zuko was born – and goes over to grab a chair. Juggling Azula and the chair, he settles down in front of Zuko's crib, where they can both look at his peaceful face as he sleeps.

He isn't often peaceful, as the both of them know, for he spends most of his time crying and generally making a fuss about everything. He is a loud child, like most of the children of the royal family, who likes everyone to know when he is upset.

Azula and Zuko are polar opposites.

"Azula," Iroh says quietly into the morning air. He can see his breath for a moment before it disappears, like nebulous and transient mist. Her head turns toward him, hesitantly, as if it is difficult to tear her eyes away from her younger brother. "I am leaving soon," he says. There is no response from the little girl.

"You won't see me for awhile," he continues, and at this Azula's eyes widen. She may not speak, for she is a silent child, but she can understand simple speech. Her hand reaches for his face, and she grabs firmly onto his beard. She tugs it, as if beseeching him to explain.

Iroh sighs, and absently pulls her hand away from his beard. "Lu Ten and I must join the war effort in the Earth Kingdom. I do not know how long we will be gone." _I do not know how long it will take for me to lose my mind, or for me to fail… or succeed._

"I am telling you this, Azula, because with my absence there are some important things that fall to you." The man turns his head to the sleeping baby, and Azula's eyes willingly follow. "You must protect your brother. You are the older child, and you must ensure that he does not fall to darkness."

_He may fall anyways, _the rational part of his mind mocks, but he ignores it.

Azula nods her head, reluctantly, as if she is carrying the weight of the world. Iroh softly pats down her hair, which is loose and frames her face. He knows that in a few hours, the maids will come and they will dress her up and she will go to her lessons. This is her first day of formal lessons, and he wishes that he could stay.

But he knows that he cannot. The sun has risen, and the air is slowly heating with its warmth. Kissing the top of her head gently, Iroh says goodbye and leaves the nursery. _I will see you again, _he promises silently. _I will return._

Azula is still sitting in the chair, watching her little brother breathe in and out. She can see the soft inhale, the stronger exhale.

Curious, she scoots closer on her chair until she can reach her hands through the bars. Cautiously, she sticks a skinny arm through until she can trace the softness of his face, the frailness of his ear. The little princess carefully lifts his hand and fits hers to it. His hand is so small! It is dwarfed by her own hand, which is small compared to anyone else's. She sits there and a miniature smile graces her face. Azula's hand is clasped in Zuko's tiny hand. She knows that in a few moments, he will wake and scream, and the maids will rush in and move her out of the way. And then they will dress her and she will go to lessons and learn and do all the things expected of a princess. But for now, she is at peace.

Azula looks at Zuko. _Mine, _she thinks. _Mine._

* * *

7.

Ozai approaches the dais, head bowed. Behind him, Ursa is bowing deeply. Neither of them look nervous, but neither of them look proud. They look simply relieved. Azulon understands this feeling, and knowing that neither of them can see, he sneers at the show of emotion. His youngest has never been particularly bright.

In the arms of his son is his new grandson, several months old now, with a veritable mane of black hair. Zuko's face is an angry red, but at least he is quiet. He has already heard about the strong lungs of the newest member of his family.

"Fire Lord Azulon, may I present to you my heir Zuko?" Ozai extends his hands out, and the baby Zuko turns until his head is facing the flames surrounding the dais. His hand escapes the blankets and reaches toward the fire, grasping, wanting.

Azulon smirks cruelly. It seems that he has underestimated his son and the Lady Ursa.

"Very good, my son," Azulon's voice booms through the chamber, making Zuko's brows furrow. The baby's face begins to transform, and Ozai quickly recognizes it as a sign of an upcoming crying fit. He bows again, deeper than the last, and quickly passes the baby to Ursa, who bows before leaving in a hurry.

The Fire Lord's eyes follow her across the room, noting the elaborate ornaments in her hair and the sad configuration of her features. _It is to be expected_, he thinks.

"Your brother is gone for now, Ozai." Azulon says suddenly, startling his son to looking up and meeting his eyes.

Ozai nods his head in acceptance.

Azulon shifts so that he rests more comfortably upon the throne. From below, Ozai can see the glint of the headpiece as the fire glints off it. It is tempting and alluring, and something he will never possess. Something that is not his to touch. "His absence means that some of his duties will now fall to you, such as his attendance at my war councils and his invaluable advice on war strategy."

A glint enters Ozai's eyes as he bows to show his understanding; this is his reward, and he will gratefully. He has been waiting a lifetime. "Yes, father. I would be honored." He looks up, eyes glowing with the reflection of the flickering flames. "I live but to serve the Fire Nation."

"Good. I will expect that of you." Azulon comments, folding his hands in his lap. "I will expect nothing less of your family, either."

Ozai smirks. "They will not disappoint."

His youngest son has never been the best son, but he will not underestimate him again because he knows that the stigma of disappointment sets a fire within a person like nothing else can. He also knows that while Ozai may not be weak enough to defeat his brother openly, he is cunning and sly and will use anything and everything he can to his advantage.

"I hope so," Azulon says. "You are dismissed."

"Yes, father," Ozai murmurs, bowing. "We all live but to serve the Fire Nation. We all live but to serve the Fire Lord."

* * *

8.

"General Iroh," a soldier enters his tent, taking a quick glance at the numerous maps hanging on the walls and the positioning of troops marked on them, "You have several letters from the Fire Nation." Iroh looks up, eyes weary of the world. He nods, and the letters are placed on the desk in front of him. The soldier bows his head before leaving the tent.

Iroh rubs his temples; he can feel the headache building, but is powerless to stop it. It is not an uncommon occurrence now.

The first letter is from a contact he has on one of the outer isles, detailing peasant revolts, and the next from a fellow pai-sho master back in the Fire Nation, informing him of his next move in the long distance game they are playing. The last letter in the pile catches his interest: it is from Lady Ursa, and it is addressed to Prince Iroh.

He opens the letter:

_Iroh, _

- it plainly begins –

_Nothing much has been happening here at the palace. I know my husband does not write you, and I suppose that your father doesn't either, so I decided that I should probably keep you abreast of events while you are gone. You have already been gone for several months. Zuko has grown much; already he has a full head of hair. Ozai has been busy helping the Fire Lord. He has taken over many of the duties that had been yours before you went off to war._

The letter continues this way for several pages, until it is signed _Lady Ursa _in neat, precise characters. Curiously, there is an extra page attached to the letter. He turns to see, and in sloppy and unformed characters, it simply says:

_I miss you,_

_Azula_

In that moment he can only wonder what her time has been like while he has been gone; the siege has only begun, he will likely be here many more years. Without anyone to be her sponsor, will she be given the correct lessons? Will she firebend? What will become of a girl that has no guardian?

The questions are too many.

His thoughts are interrupted when a soldier, a different one than previously, enters the tent and bows. "General Iroh," he says without preamble, "your son and his troops have returned from battle. They are in the South compound barracks." He bows and takes his leave after a quick dismissal from the Dragon of the West.

Iroh pulls on his official helmet – the top piece is an ornate dragon shooting fire into the sky – and walks quickly out of his tent to the barracks. As he passes, all the soldiers bow, stopping in their duties to pay homage to the General, but he ignores them. This was Lu Ten's first real battle, his first real command. Iroh knows that Lu Ten is an excellent firebender, commander, and swordsman; he is a father, however, and so he still worries for his only son. He reaches the barracks, storms in, and there sits Lu Ten on a bed. Surrounding them are medics hurriedly checking on soldiers. Lu Ten's arm is already bandaged.

His eyes stare off into the distance. Iroh walks over and shakes his son on the shoulder. He does not respond immediately, and this worried Iroh. "Lu Ten?" he asks, shaking him harder.

Lu Ten seems to break out of the trance, and he looks up at his father, golden eyes somewhat confused and lost. "Father?" he asks in a small voice, and suddenly he is four again and he is wondering where his mother has gone, and Iroh tells him she has gone to the Spirit World.

"Lu Ten? Are you alright?" Iroh asks, and sits down next to the boy-man. Lu Ten looks away. When he speaks, his voice is broken and even before he says anything, Iroh knows that everything is not alright, everything is not okay.

His eyes clench and then open, facing Iroh now, the golden quality has dimmed, and the shining light has gone. "I hate war," he rasps out.

"I killed a man today, father." His eyes close as he remembers the moment; it seems to him that it was only moments ago. The picture is burned into his mind forever. "I burned him alive… I pushed my hand forward and fire sprang out, and in a moment, in a single second - " he makes a vague gesture with his hands. _Scorched skin and the smell of burning bodies and death… oh, and death…_

Iroh puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, knowing that he can do nothing. He can remember the first time he had killed a man; it had not been pleasant, and he had been young and idealistic and his dreams had been crushed by war and fire and death. _We are all pawns, _he thinks, _we all are simply playing out parts._

"I killed a man today, and he wasn't even a soldier. He had a pitchfork in his hands – he was nothing more than a farmer, now just a man - a man whose farm was burned down." Lu Ten covers his face with his hands, and his voice comes out muffled. "He has – had – a family, I can tell – oh, Agni – and now there is a little boy with his crying mother and he is wondering where his father went… and she will tell him that he is gone, that he has gone to the Spirit World."

Iroh's hand clenches on his shoulder.

"And it is my fault."

* * *

9.

At the end of spring, when the flowers are starting to droop in the heat and the sun rises earlier and earlier and sets later and later, a strange man enters the nursery. He has dark brown hair and beard that is almost-sinister, and a smile on his face that is warm and that contrasts with his dark appearance. His eyes are gold, like hers, and they are judging her when he first lays his eyes on her.

"Hello," Azula simply says, once he has noticed her. She is sitting cross-legged on a black cushion with stark and bright crimson embroidery, and in her hands she has a brush. There is an inkwell on the table in front of her, and there are sheets and sheets of paper filled with traditional, Fire Nation writing characters.

He wanders closer, hands clasped neatly behind his back. "Hello," the man smoothly returns. "Who might you be?"

"My name is Azula." His eyes search the room while she talks. "Are you looking for Zuko?" The man's head swings back around to search her for sincerity, and then he nods once. "He isn't here," the little girl apologizes, putting down her brush to adjust the decorative piece carefully placed in her hair. "The maids are giving him a bath because he fell into the mud outside."

The man smiles and chuckles lightly to himself. "Thank you, little girl," he says. He gestures to the cushion on the opposite side of the table. "May I join you?" Azula grins and nods her head, happy to have company, even if he is a strange and unknown man.

Her golden eyes are unnerving and very intense – almost startling – as they stare at him. "What is your name?" she finally asks, several minutes later.

He realizes that he has not introduced himself. "I apologize for my rudeness," he says, bowing his head. "I am Captain Zhao of the Red Dragon. I am a distant friend of Princess Ursa." He smiles crookedly. "I am a son of her parent's friends, and my family is staying here. The Lady Ursa invited me to visit her young son while I am here."

Azula bows her head to return her greeting. "I am Princess Azula of the Fire Nation, daughter of the Lady Ursa and Prince Ozai. And my birthday is in a few days. I will be three."

Zhao blinks at the influx of information – _only three?_ he thinks,_ she speaks as if she is much older than that._ "You are Ursa's daughter?" He frowns; Ursa had not spoken of a daughter.

"Yes," Azula replies simply, and watches him process the information. "You…" His golden eyes focus back on her small, pixie face. "You know my mother?" She asks hesitantly.

The man nods his head, eyes narrowing in thought. "I have known her since we were both very young. She is several years younger than me, but our mothers were very good friends."

"What… is she like?" Azula wonders, looking down at the sheet in front of her, hands absently tracing the characters for _fire _and _dark_.

Zhao's brows furrow now, confused. "She," he starts slowly, "is a very kind and gentle woman. She likes animals." He watches as her eyes lower again, as the sadness enters them. "Does she not visit you?"

"Oh," Azula states, "a couple of times. But mostly she visits Zuko when I'm at my lessons." She smiles at him suddenly. "The maids tell me she is very busy."

Zhao smiles back, but it is forced and he does not understand the situation at all. A daughter? Inconceivable. He would have heard of it, but… her eyes and chin and brows are exact replicas of Ozai's and her hair is the exact same shade as Ursa's. "Yes," he agrees, "I am sure she is very busy."

And, like a flash of lightning, she is beaming at him and her eyes are open and intense and there is something in them that is so innocent, something that is so dissimilar from everyone else. In that moment, Zhao cannot do anything but stare, because she is utterly captivating in her purity.

They sit in silence as she picks up the brush again and dips it in the ink. Carefully, she sets it to the paper, and starts to write again. Zhao watches as she does so, and after a few moments asks, "What are you doing, princess?"

"Oh," Azula says, "I am trying to write a letter to my Uncle Iroh, but before I can do that I have to practice my writing." She holds up a paper with the sloppy but recognizable characters for _Uncle Iroh _and _I wish. _"See?" she asks. "I'm getting better," she explains as she writes the same characters underneath.

"Yes," he concurs, "you are."

The sound of the door sliding open has him turning around to see who it is. It is a maid, bowing: "Captain Zhao? Lady Ursa is with Prince Zuko, and she invites you to join them in her sitting room." When he hesitates, she continues, "I will show you the way."

Zhao turns back to look at the young princess, whose eyes are filled with an eternal sadness and loneliness, and longing too. She smiles tremulously and bows her head. "Goodbye, Captain Zhao."

"Goodbye, Princess Azula," he returns. "I will come to visit," the man says, and he is sincere.

And with that, she is grinning widely at him, eyes twinkling and dancing and reminding him of fireflies on a summer night. He cannot ever forget the sight, and it lingers in his mind for days.

* * *

10.

The Fire Nation during the summer months is a miserable place, because although it is monsoon season and it rains more often than one would expect in a nation named after fire, it is also very humid. The humidity is oppressing, and it only serves to magnify the heat and cause excessive sweating for anyone who is out in the heat. Especially for those who firebend.

It is in this sweltering heat that Prince Ozai practices his firebending. In one of the outside courts made for this purpose, he goes through the basic stances and forms, before moving on to their more advanced counterparts. The fire comes to him easily, now; once, long in the past, it had not come at all.

He finishes, panting under the harsh light of the noon sun. His body is covered in a thin sheet of sweat, and his hair has partially come undone out of its top-knot. The firebender gestures to a man standing at the side of the court, and he hurries forward with a glass of cool water in his hands. Ozai gulps the water down, stopping only to wipe the sweat off his forehead with a towel handed to him by the servant.

After he finishes the water, he wipes the sweat off his body and replaces his shirt. His hair is carefully adjusted by the servant, top-knot now firmly in place. He straightens out, and begins the trek back to his study in the sprawling expanse of the palace.

He passes through a familiar courtyard on the way; as he passes the nursery, his feet stop of their own volition. The doors to the courtyard are open, to help move the air in the absence of a breeze, and it is so tempting. The prince knows that his daughter is at her lessons, and therefore absent…

Ozai turns toward the doors and walks up the stairs onto the wooden walkway that connects the rooms, and then enters the nursery. No maids are present; no doubt they are taking their own lunches, and have put his son down for a nap.

His assumptions are proved correct when he looks in the ornately carved, gold-gilded crib; inside is his young son, Zuko. His eyes are closed, and for a change he looks as if he is peaceful.

The father shows a rare smile, and lets his hand straighten out his son's mane of hair. The boy makes a soft noise before settling down again.

"You are just like my brother when he was young," Ozai whispers. "Or so everyone tells me. I can only hope that you turn out like him, because I have only served to disappoint my father thus far."

Golden eyes turn calculating as they take in the image of his sleeping son, the power that is no doubt hidden within… "But you," he murmurs slowly, "you will be great. I can tell."

His face becomes slightly smug. "You will not disappoint me."

Calloused hands trace the smoothness of his son's cheek, the softness of his eyelashes, the square-like quality of his stubborn chin.

"You," Ozai says, "you will be my redemption."


	3. everything is as it was

**Title:** ab igne ignem capere  
**Chapter Title: **everything is as it was  
**Author:** honestly_sangi / Sangi  
**Prompt:** 31_days ; june 25th: everything is as it was  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own A:TLA or anything contained within or related to it.  
**Word Count: **7337  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters: **Azula, Iroh, rest of Fire Nation royal family  
**Author's Notes:** This is my idea of an alternate universe in which Azula was born first, is generally unloved, and turns out to be a kind-of hero.

I have been planning it out, and I think this will be over 20 chapters. I don't want this to be epic, but it seems that it is going to end up sufficiently long. About a year or so has passed from the end of last chapter. Question to ponder: how much can a lonely little girl change a greedy man like Zhao? We will see. Next chapter is an interlude on Zhao, explaining his past and how it deviates from the Avatar-verse compared to this scenario. The next chapter should be out on the twenty-seventh.

Ab igne ignem capere -  
To light a fire with fire  
- Cicero

_I just settled into the glass half-empty  
__I just stopped believing in happy endings  
__But you had to come along didn't you  
__Break down the doors, throw open windows  
_- Vienna Teng, Stray Italian Greyhound

* * *

0.

Each evening, a procession of maids come into the nursery to prepare Zuko for dinner with his parents.

Azula eats mostly alone.

* * *

1.

The air echoes with soft, light giggles and a deeper, darker chuckle. Separate, the sounds would be cacophonous and inharmonious, but together they are a perfect melody. A maid with a basket full of clean clothes pauses in the hallway, and peers in through the open doors to see what has caused such joyous noise. Inside the informal sitting room there sits a tall man with brown hair and a contagious smile, eyes closed as he laughs. Across from him at the short table is a young girl, mouth covered by one hand as she snickers, chopsticks perfectly grasped in the other. The maid smiles softly and closes the door as she continues back down the hallway.

Seated on a comfortable cushion in light shades of yellow, the little princess continues to giggle long after the chuckling ends. "You didn't really!" she exclaims to the man sitting across from her.

He smiles crookedly. "Oh, but I did," Zhao assures her. "I apologized profusely, of course, but the old woman never forgave me for ruining her fire lilies." He grabs a piece of spicy chicken with his chopsticks and pops it into his mouth.

"I've never seen a fire lily before," Azula says ponderously, chopsticks clicking together in one hand. "What do they look like?"

Zhao finishes chewing his chicken before answering. "Well," he begins, "they are bright red and said to be the most beautiful flower in the Fire Nation. They usually grow in the wild, but many nobles are now trying to make an effort to breed them so that they bloom more often. They only bloom for a few weeks, at the end of summer," the man explains. He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Come to think of it, we have a festival here in the capital for the blooming of the fire lilies."

"It's at the end of summer?" Azula asks, chewing carefully on a piece of komodo chicken sausage. "That's so soon! It's only a couple of months away. Oh, I wish I could go," she says.

Her smile is infectious and before he knows it, he is grinning back at her and promising that he will take her to the festival.

A servant knocks peremptorily before entering, bowing low and holding out a sealed scroll. "A letter has arrived for the Princess Azula," he intones, and Azula uncrosses her legs and sets down her utensils to walk over and retrieve the scroll. It is marked with her Uncle's seal; a curling dragon blasting fire to the sky. The livery-dressed man bows once more before disappearing back through the doors.

The young princess's hands shake with excitement as she breaks the seal, quickly moving back to the table. "It's from Uncle Iroh," she says reverently, fingers caressing the paper. She quickly skims the letter. Zhao observes as her eyes flit across the words.

After a few minutes she sets it down off to the side of the table, where it won't get dirty so she can put it in her box of letters later. "He says that it is going well, and that he and Lu Ten are doing fine. Uncle also says," she grins bashfully, "that he is enjoying the variety of tea in the Earth Kingdom. Last week they almost brought down part of the outer wall, but a team of earthbenders repaired it before they could break through."

Zhao sounds an hmm of understanding. Azula's face turns thoughtful as she recalls the end of the letter. "He also says that he is sending me a gift that should arrive soon. I wonder what it could be."

"A doll, perhaps?" Zhao asks as he returns to eating. "There are many master crafters in the Earth Kingdom.

"No," Azula answers absently. "I'm not allowed to have dolls. Father told all the maids, and they took them away long ago."

Zhao's brows furrow. Not allowed to have dolls? "Your uncle is a wise man," he finally says. "I am sure his gift will be most appropriate."

The golden-eyed girl looks up suddenly at the sound of his voice, and she resolutely nods her head. "You are right." She picks up her cup and takes a delicate sip of the Fire Nation spice tea that is served with dinner. "Zhao, tell me again about the first time you rode a mongoose dragon," the princess asks as she tastes a piece of roasted duck.

Zhao, leaning back as he finishes his meal, letting the spice settle on his tongue, replies: "Well, I was eight and a bit of a troublemaker. During the middle of the night, I crept out of the back door and into the stables…"

* * *

2.

Prince Zuko is dressed most formally, in black and gold robes that give the appearance of war-like armor. They are uncomfortable, they make him itch, and Zuko hates the robes. They are almost identical to all the rest of his formal robes, and every day the maids chose which one is to wear for dinner. They then carry him to the even more formal dining room, where his parents wait in silence for his arrival.

Tonight, the maid settles him carefully in the specially built chair. She then takes the seat next to him. Almost instantaneously, his parents and the maid pick up their chopsticks. The maid, however, picks up a piece of steamed fish and holds it in front of his mouth for him to eat. He takes it, reluctantly, and then proceeds to chew on it viciously before swallowing. Prince Zuko hates fish.

Ozai watches as his youngest child is forced to eat all manner of foods. He makes little noise, and for that he is grateful. He is glad that the baby's fussy nature seems to have disappeared as he became a child.

Ursa smiles lightly as Zuko's eyes blink sleepily. She places some komodo chicken in her mouth as she watches her son push away the food offered to him, and then as he egregiously yawns. She covers her growing smile with her hand and waves her other hand to get the maid's attention. "You may put him to bed," she says simply.

The maid unfolds out of the chair, and bows towards Ozai and Ursa. "My lord, my lady," she mutters in dismissal, and picks Zuko up out of his chair. His eyes close fully as he relaxes, and then the maid is turning around and in the blink of an eye he is gone.

They eat in silence for several minutes. "He should begin his lessons soon." He observes quietly.

Ursa pauses in the middle of bringing her cup up to her lips. Her fingers grasp the delicate porcelain of the handle tightly. "No," she says softly but determinedly. This causes Ozai to stop while he is picking out a good-looking piece of rhino sausage. "No," she says again. "He isn't even two yet. Give him more time to be child before he must become an adult."

Her husband's eyes, observant and judgmental, watch her as she continues to take a sip of her tea. Finally, he capitulates. "Very well," he comments. "Then perhaps we should have him moved into a separate room." With this, Ursa moves her head to look him in the eyes. They speak to her. They say, _Compromise with me. Not just for your son, but because I know all your secrets. I know your weak spots. I know the darkest part of you, and I will not hesitate to use it against you_. _Compromise with me_.

"That is acceptable," she decides at last. "We will have him moved into the room that has been prepared to be his."

"Hmm," mumbles Ozai in consent, and he then continues to eat.

Ursa hates her husband, but she loves him as well. It is her downfall.

* * *

3.

"Come on," Azula says, tugging on Zuko's arm. He is toddling slowly behind her, still not the steadiest of walkers. "Hurry up!" She waits patiently for him to walk over a rock, and then she is on the move again, dragging her little brother along behind her. "The pond is this way," the small girl says, taking a sharp turn to the right to maneuver around the courtyards. Behind them, a maid easily keeps up, holding a basket full of food and toys in case the prince wants to play, or if either of them want to eat.

The two children make their way through the garden. It is hot outside, and earlier in the morning it had rained – poured – for hours. The royal little girl and boy had been stuck inside until the rain had let up, and then Azula had grabbed Zuko and made for her favorite part of the garden. As they walk mud splashes over their shoes and pants, but neither of them notice or care.

They finally crest a low hill and Azula smiles expectantly and triumphantly. "Look, there!" she says and points. Zuko's eyes follow her hand to a small pond that is overflowing with water from the rain and that is shaded by trees and surrounded by low, flat rocks to sit on. "Let's go," the little girl exclaims and she quickly grasps her hand in his, and they are off. The maid settles down beneath a nearby tree, within hearing distance and easily able to see the children.

Azula moves forward quickly and sits down on the edge of one of the rocks. Zuko settles next to her, legs crossed, and eyes curiously staring at the small body of water. The girl quickly and clumsily removes her shoes, throwing them behind her. They land in the mud.

She sighs in relief as her bare, tiny feet now rest in the water. She wriggles her toes, making waves spiral out from the source of movement. The vibrations have attracted the notice of the animals living in the pond.

"Look, Zuko," Azula whispers to the young boy. He looks at the strange animals and makes a small surprised sound in response. The girl slips her hand into her left pocket and pulls out a couple rolls of bread. She hands one to her little brother, who simply holds it and watches her expectantly. She rips several small pieces off, and then she tosses them into the pool. The turtle ducks swarm around the bread, fighting over it until Zuko follows his sister's example and tosses a piece in as well.

He smiles proudly when several of the turtle ducks break off from the main group and head to his piece of bread. Azula is beaming also, slowly ripping up tiny pieces of bread and tossing them in the pond. They are quickly gobbled up.

Once she has finished off the bread, she leans back on her hands. "See there?" she asks Zuko, nodding her head toward the largest turtle duck in the pond. Zuko looks over at the turtle duck inquisitively. "That's the mother turtle duck. She protects all her little baby turtle ducks until they grow up and can take care of themselves."

Zuko claps his hands together, seemingly happy with the idea. The maid under the shade of the tree smiles at his antics. "Mama?" he asks unsurely, pointing at the turtle duck as she swims away, carefully herding her children toward the shadow of one of the trees hanging over the pond.

"Yeah," Azula whispers, gently placing her hand on Zuko's head. "Mama."

* * *

4.

Zhao is taking his nightly walk around the palace after he has eaten dinner with his parents. His mother had complained that the maids were incompetent because they kept misplacing her favorite jewelry box; Zhao shared a look with his father, as they both know that it is his mother's failing memory that causes this problem, not the maids. He silently left their apartments, stepping out into the night air, and now he is staring at the moon.

The moon is in full form tonight, and he puts his elbows against the wood railing bordering the walkway to better tilt his head back. With a tinge of regret and sadness, he turns his head away from her… once, he had read a fantastical story about the moon and the ocean. Once, he had planned… _well_, the firebender thinks. _Once was a long time ago._

Pushing away from the wood, he clasps his hands behind his back. The lanterns are glowing ethereally in the night, and the flickering lights attract the dragon-fireflies, their small, twisty bodies dancing, casting mysterious shadows onto the walls. Every once and awhile one snorts, and a thin trail of smoke changes the scent of the wind.

Not far ahead of him, Zhao can spot a slim figure resting their arms on the railing, not so unlike what he had done a few moments ago, and staring silently and mysteriously up at the full moon. As he approaches, he can see it is a woman, for her hair is free and long and a breeze pulls it back from her face and she – she is breathtakingly beautiful, as she always has been.

Her face turns to him, and on it there is a small, gentle smile. "Captain Zhao," she greets, and her voice is relaxed and melodious.

In return, he gives a short bow and comes to stand next to her. "Princess Ursa," he rejoinders.

Ursa smiles wider and turns her head back toward the moon. "Pretty," she comments.

"Yes," he agrees; his eyes are trained on her face, shadowed by the night.

"I once heard a wonderful story," she begins, "about the moon and a man who fell in love with her." At this, her smile turns bitter. "But she could not return his love, and he was destined to waste his days in eternal sadness."

Zhao's eyes are intense and they burn brightly in the night. "Tragic," he murmurs. "I heard a similar story once."

"The nursery maids tell me that you frequently visit my daughter, and have several times stayed to eat dinner with her." Ursa says abruptly, a rhetorical statement.

The man smiles in remembrance. "She is a most agreeable child; she is also very intelligent and coherent for her age."

Another breeze passes through, and the lanterns swing back and forth tremulously. On her face is a hint of sadness and longing that had not been there years ago, but she is still serene and strong. Or so she appears to him, at least.

And she is turning to him suddenly in the middle of a strong gust of wind – the warm air passes them by, and in the sky lightning crackles dangerously – her hair is blowing wildly and there is something fierce and wild in her eyes that he has never seen there before, something that is untamed and reminds Zhao vividly of a komodo lion. The dragon-fireflies swarm around her, tangled in her brown locks, and they unequivocally match the color of her eyes. "Promise me something," she commands. "Promise me that you'll watch out for her."

Gold eyes narrow in disbelief. "Why," he begins in a low voice, "would you care about what happens to a daughter that you don't care for?"

"Please," and there is a touch of desperation and pleading in her voice, although the ferocity of her face does not waver.

He snorts. "No. I owe you no favors."

Ursa takes a step closer to him. "Once," she declares, "you would have done anything for me. Have you changed so much that you will begrudge me a simple boon?"

Zhao observes her: the fire burning frantically, violently in her eyes, the stubborn set of her chin, the slight downward slant of her eyes – she is nothing like the woman he once knew. "It is not me who has changed," he whispers in a soft tone, and the wind carries to her ears.

Golden eyes flash; the moon paints her face pale. "Promise me," she demands.

_The sound of soft, melodious laughter and scribbled notes on scrolls, the promise of dinner and companionship and everything that accompanies it…_"I promise," he says unexpectedly, and her shoulders slump in relief. The air around her is calm, and the dragon-fireflies are once again surrounding the lanterns.

"But not for you. Not anymore."

* * *

5.

"General Iroh?" A man asks from behind him. The Dragon of the West turns around, shielding his eyes from the sun to discern who it is. Ah, it is one of the agents he had sent to Omashu. "You have news for me, Jing?"

At this, the firebender bows. "Yes, General. If you will follow me, I will take you to my news." Iroh's brows rise in surprise. The spy bows again before turning around and walking toward the intelligence center. Even more surprisingly, he walks past the desks and leads him to the detainment area in the back. Iroh follows and sees a man sitting in one of the cells, his arms tied behind him, wretchedly attached to a chair.

"You know that for the past several weeks, many of our battles have gone awry because the enemy has had confidential information about positioning and formation." Jing cocks his head toward the man in the cell, who is now watching them talk. "I caught him selling information to a man in Omashu. The other man got away, but not before I caught the informant."

Iroh nods his head, examining the man in the cell. The traitor smiles crookedly, and his brown eyes meet the general's head-on. There is amusement and desperation in them, but no fear. "What is his name?" The gold-eyed man asks, not looking away.

"Aiguo," replies Jing.

Many have died because of information sold to the enemy. The siege had been pushed back because of information sold to the enemy. His son's squad had been almost wiped out in an ambush that should not have happened. "Very well," says Iroh finally. "Ask my son to join me here."

Jing bows. "Yes, General." And he leaves.

The clanking of keys reverberates throughout the dungeon-like atmosphere, echoing off the brick walls. Iroh holds the keys in his hands; he unlocks the chamber and grabs a chair resting in the corner. Sitting down, he locks eyes with the man across from him. "Hello, Aiguo," Iroh merely states.

Aiguo smirks. "Good morning, General."

"You don't look like a soldier. You weren't one of mine, were you?"

"No, I was not."

Iroh leans back in his chair, assessing his opponent. "Who were you selling information to, Aiguo? Who was it that met you in a crowded tavern in Omashu?"

"I don't know."

At this, a laugh resounds through the room. "Oh, really?"

"I don't know his name, and he was disguised."

The two of them both sit in silence. Aiguo's eyes are blank and trained on the far wall behind Iroh. The General knows that he has been trained, because his responses are standard. It's also probable that he knows nothing - that precautions were taken in case of an agent getting captured. It is what he would have done, and so it is possible. Their pregnant silence is interrupted by the slow side of a door opening, and Iroh turns his head to see his confused son entering the room.

"Ah, Lu Ten," Iroh greets. "I believe you lost some troops last week in a surprise ambush?" At the firebender's nod, he continues. "This man was caught selling information to the enemy. He says he does not know who he sold it to."

Slowly, Lu Ten's head moves and his eyes focus in on Aiguo. The man does not respond, and instead blinks as if defying him. Lu Ten takes measured and deliberate steps forward until he is in front of the traitor. He squats down on his knees, stopping only when he is at eye-level with Aiguo.

"If you do not know who you sold it to, tell me who you bought it from. Tell me who gave you the information," his voice is level and calm but Iroh can recognize the controlled anger and tension in his body.

The man laughs openly. "You think that I would tell you such a thing? You will only kill me anyway."

"Have you no loyalty to the Fire Nation? Have you no patriotism?"

The man turns his head and spits to the side. "Patriotism is for rich men, Commander."

Lu Ten grasps the man's chin and forces him to lock eyes. Within the brown eyes of the man there is defiance; within the golden eyes of Lu Ten there is uncontrollable rage and searching vengeance. "Tell me who your master is. Tell me who work for."

Aiguo sneers. "I work for the liberation of the Earth Kingdom. I work for the freedom of the oppressed people of the world; I work for the end of genocide." His sneer morphs into a mocking smile and neither Iroh nor Lu Ten can look away. "I work for the defeat of the Fire Nation. I work for the defeat of the Fire Lord."

Like the man is spitting, venomous viper, Lu Ten releases Aiguo's chin and clumsily stumbles back. Iroh, however, speaks calmy, "You rebels cannot succeed. You do not have the strength, and you do not have the will. You may weaken us, but we will destroy you."

The General stands up and brushes off his armor as if he has been somewhere exceedingly disgusting. Lu Ten looks dazed, as if the words had slapped him across the face. Iroh's hand gently latches onto his arm and takes him out of the cell. Quietly, the key turns in the lock. "I hope that you will be more forthcoming with your interrogators. They are not nearly as forgiving as I am."

Crazy, feral laughter plucks a chord within Iroh. The man, Aiguo, is cackling. "You are both so disillusioned… wait until the blindfold is pulled away! Wait until your defeat! It will be so sweet, and the world will savor your magnificent failure!"

The two firebenders walk away down the long hallway, but the turncoat's voice is still audible. The soldiers standing guard look unsettled, but Iroh and Lu Ten walk steadily towards the iron doors that will open and set them free.

"You may not realize it yet," the man's voice follows them and ricochets on the walls, "but the Fire Nation is not undefeatable! We will strike fear into the hearts of your citizens, and we will get our revenge! We will prevail, and the Fire Nation will fall!"

The sunlight blinds Iroh for a moment, but it is a welcome relief. He dismisses the words of Aiguo as the ramblings of a crazy man. It is only later, when it is too late, that he will heed them.

_Will fall… will fall… will fall…_

* * *

6.

Ursa is holed up in one of the many libraries present in the palace. This one specializes in works of fiction, with a large section completely dedicated to poetry and prose about the legendary fire lily. In the princess's hands there is a book of delicately and intricately illustrated children's tales, and she flips through the pages quickly. It had been her favorite book as a child, and now she revisits the pages. There is a small smile on her face.

"Lady Ursa?" A timid voice asks from her right. She looks up only to see one of the librarians, nervously bowing her head. "A package has arrived for Prince Zuko from the Earth Kingdom. Ming tells me that they are waiting for you to open it."

Ursa's smile grows and she closes the book, remembering the page she was on. She sits up and reorganizes her hair, making sure that the headpiece is firmly in place, before she stands up and dismisses the librarian. She tucks the book under her arm and leaves the library, heading for her son's private rooms.

The quarters are not far from the library, only several hallways and turns away, and soon she has arrived and is pushing the doors open; the one on the right creaks slightly when it is halfway open. Zuko is sitting on his bed, looking excitedly at the package wrapped in colorful green fabric – seafoam meshes with grass meshes with vibrant jade – and his head turns toward her as she enters.

"Zuko," she greets warmly, and crosses the room to sit on the bed next to him. Ursa puts the book of fairytales on the table, within reach. Her arms slip around him, and for a moment he is enveloped by her warm arms and he is content. She smells like burnt incense and warm fire and that unidentifiable scent that he unknowingly associates with his mother.

"Mm," she mumbles as she pulls the package into her lap, ignoring as Zuko's hands grasp greedily at the fabric. "Let's see what Uncle Iroh sent you, shall we?" Ursa gently unties the bow and sets the black velvet ribbon to the side, and then pulls away the fabric to reveal an elaborately carved wooden box. The maple – or so it seems – is gleaming in the light, showing that it has been polished to perfection. She opens the box to reveal two broadswords, covered in black sheaths with dragons up and down the sides.

A note lies beneath them.

_I know they might not be useful now, I am sure you can keep them until he is old enough_.

_Iroh_

Ursa smiles at this, and Zuko is running his hands over the sheaths. His head comes up to look at his mother, his mouth open in a little 'o' and confusion in his eyes. The maids are smiling in the background, and Ursa's grin widens as she places her hand on his head and delicately ruffles his hair. "This is a gift that will be useful later," she promises, and her son turns away, picking up the black ribbon, already distracted.

The woman closes the box carefully, slipping the note into her pocket. She gestures a maid forward to take the box away. By the time Ursa turns back to look at her son, Zuko has tangled the ribbon around his hands, and his face is quickly turning red with frustration. She laughs and takes the ribbon from him, extricating it from his hands.

"Do you want to hear a story, Zuko?" she asks, and picks up the book from where she has left it. She settles back against the pillows, and Zuko leans his head against her side, closing his eyes. "Well then," she continues, and opens the book. "This is the story of Koh the Face Stealer." And she begins.

When she at last finishes, closing the book and smiling in a self-satisfied way, the sun is further down in the sky than it was earlier, and many of the maids had left to see to other duties. Ursa looks down. Zuko is sleeping, eyelashes resting against his cheek, mouth slightly open as he breathes in and out.

Softly, the princess pushes back his hair from his face. There is an aura of purity and gentleness about him, and he is so utterly young, so untouched, and she – she doesn't want that to change. "You aren't your father," she says, as if to convince herself.

She repeats, softer, "You aren't your father."

* * *

7.

It is a warm summer evening. The air has cooled off considerably from the scalding heat of the sun, but the air is heavy with humidity. It has rained on and off for the past two days, and another shower is expected tonight. The humidity makes everyone on edge; the sweat caused by it makes everyone uncomfortable. The Princess Azula is wearing pants that go just past her calves, puffing out around her knees, and a loose shirt - a testament to the stifling nature of the dusk-time.

The sun has just gone down, and Azula is trying to read a book for her lessons; she is almost five and already her instructors are pushing her to read volumes upon volumes. Her brother Zuko has just started his lessons, and they seem to like him a whole lot better.

The little girl is still living in the nursery, but now she sleeps in a bed. The cribs have been moved to somewhere in storage, and there is a small bed, table, and desk for Azula to use. She is currently lying on the bed, book propped up in her lap.

She is distracted by the sound of the door sliding open slowly. As soon as she hears the _shush-shush _of the door, she looks up expectantly.

A well-polished black leather boot steps into the room, followed by the entire body of Captain Zhao. He is smiling at her, but that hardly takes away from the fact – "Where have you been?" she asks, closing the book and setting it aside. "You're late!"

He takes a quick look around the room before settling onto his customary cushion. "I was eating dinner with my parents," he says apologetically, gold eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Oh." The princess says, and with that she deflates, _like a war balloon that hits a cliff and twirls down to the ground, drifting like a butterfly,_ Zhao thinks. Azula slips off the bed where she was reading her book and walks over to sit across from him. Most of their meetings take place this way: both of them sit at the table – sometimes they eat, sometimes they talk, and sometimes they argue. She likes those times the best. Now, she goes for the second option. "What are your parents like?" she asks, curiously.

Zhao taps his finger against his chin for a moment, thinking. "My mother," he begins, "is a very kind woman, but she gets excited too easily. She loves flowers and armadillo-cats. She isn't much of a scholar, but she likes to read romances." At this, Azula scrunches up her nose. "My father, on the other hand, is very different. He is calm and reads mostly books on war strategies. He was a general before he retired. He hates flowers, animals, and children." Zhao shrugs. "We get along fine, I suppose."

Azula feels uncomfortable. He had told her so much, but she can tell him nothing. Instead, she says, "That's nice." And he makes a small sound of agreement. She moves her mind onto her next objective. "Do you know how to play pai-sho?" she asks.

"Of course. It is a game involving strategy, and we were all required to learn how to play it at the military academy."

The little princess reaches under the table and pulls out a wooden maple box. She opens it to reveal a folded pai-sho board and a smaller box, no doubt to hold the tiles. As she meticulously unfolds the board and sets it on the table, she continues. "Can you teach me? This was Uncle Iroh's gift to me, but no one will teach me how to play."

The firebender examines the quality of the board – expensive wood carved delicately – and the tiles, also wooden and carefully carved and painted. "I can teach you, but it will take longer than one evening."

Azula smiles brilliantly. "That's fine with me. How do you set up the board?"

And he shows her how to set up the board and distributes the pieces between them. Her eyes are watching and memorizing everything that he does, so next time she can do it. He moves on to explain the importance of the different tiles. Finally, he reaches the two special tiles in the game.

"This tile," Zhao says, fingering the wood, "is the white lotus tile. Some think that it is the most important tile in the game, but I prefer the white dragon tile."

"Why?" Azula wants to know.

"It can capture every other piece in the game."

* * *

8.

Zuko is three when he accidentally sets his bed on fire.

He is already a very spoiled child, for he is never refused anything that he wants. And he has become quite accustomed to getting his way in things, so when he requests that he wants to play with his sister, the Princess Azula, and he is told no – well, he is not very happy.

His face quickly turns a furious, stunning red and his small hands clench into fists. The maids in the background titter as they watch steam roll out of his ears, as they see it come puffing out of his nose. "Play!" he demands, "'Zula!"

"No," says the head maid, appearing perfectly calm, although she has already backed up several steps away from the bed on which the young boy is sitting imperiously. His eyes flash angrily in the candlelight, and he picks up his fists and bangs them on the bed.

"I – want – Zula!" he screams, and one maid breaks down and faints, almost hitting the ground, but another woman catches her. "Zula!" he yells, and another maid runs out of the room, searching frantically for the boy's parents.

She finds them drinking tea in their sitting room. She is out of breath and panting, but she simply says – "Prince Zuko, upset and yelling and steam… steam…" and both Ozai and Ursa are hurrying out of the room and down the hallway. The tea is left on the table, mist rising from it and curling and twisting. It is transient, and it disappears quickly into the air.

They make it to Zuko's bedroom in time to see that all but one maid has vacated the space, and that their son is throwing a tantrum of epic proportions. He is kicking and screaming, and his fists are waving wildly in the air and he yells and screams. Behind them, a crowd forms, wanting to see what is happening. Steam is rolling off of his body now, and somewhere behind Ozai and Ursa someone gasps in astonishment.

Ursa watches in horror, and Ozai watches contemplatively.

It happens in a single moment – one second he is swinging his arms and thumping them on the bed, and the next they are blasting fire. In moments the bed is on fire, and Ursa is too startled and horrified to do anything. Ozai, however, grabs a bucket of water from a startled maid behind him and walks forward to calmly splash the water all over his son and the surrounding area.

By now, Zuko has realized what he has done and is staring at his hands. Carefully, he flexes his palm and he concentrates and a small fire appears from nowhere. Startled, he closes his hand and the flame disappears.

"Very good, my son." Ozai says approvingly. "Very good."

The little prince looks up to his father, his eyes wide and afraid and mouth hanging open. He then starts to cry.

Ozai walks away and leaves Ursa to try and comfort her child. Her arms surround him and he turns into her, instinctively seeking the comfort that only she can give. Her golden eyes stare down at him. _You're not your father, _she thinks, _you can't be your father._

The next day, Ozai has arranged for a firebending instructor, Azulon has been informed, and Ursa has written to her brother-in-law, panicked.

_What do I do? _She wonders. _What can I do?_

Azula finds out from the maids that are talking loudly outside her room. She is dressed and is ready to leave to go to her lessons, but as she approaches the doors leading out to the hallway, she hears loud mock-whispering and cannot help herself.

"He's only three! That's even before Lord Iroh began firebending!" One exclaims.

There is a sinking feeling in Azula's stomach.

"Yes," the other agrees, and their voices start to become distant as they move away from her doors. "He is surely destined to be an amazing firebender."

Azula hasn't shown any signs of firebending yet.

* * *

9.

Generally, Azula's lessons center around Fire Nation history. There have been some interesting times where she got to learn about the Spirit World, and once they spent an entire day discussing the history of the Water Tribes. Her instructors started at the beginning of the world, and went on to teach her about the Fire Nation and its beginnings.

They tell her that they learned how to firebend from dragons. "Dragons?" she had asked, wondrous and inquisitive. Yes, it turns out, dragons. She learns about the different dynasties and Fire Lords, and they finally have finished discussing the death of Avatar Roku.

Now they are set to discuss the Fire Nation's conquest of the world.

"We of the Fire Nation," the teacher begins, "have always been superior to the rest of the world. Our people have always been the fiercest and the smartest, and we knew that the rest of the world was meant to be ours."

_How? _Azula wants to ask. _How did we know? _

He goes on to talk about the original attack, about how _here _– he points on the map – there was a battle of epic proportions, and they killed three hundred and forty-two Earth Kingdom soldiers, twenty-eight of which had been earthbenders. Then he moves farther down and shows her where there had been a naval battle, and they had conquered this strategic trading island. There were also the raids, he explains, on the Water Tribes. He tells her about how they wiped out all the waterbenders in the South Pole, and he grins evilly and tells her they deserved it.

Azula feels sick to her stomach.

She's never seen a dead person before, but a few months ago one of the older turtle ducks had died. She had come out to the pond to feed them, and one had been lying on the ground near the pond, unmoving. The little princess had poked it several times, but it had not moved. She had picked it up in her hands, and turned it over. She pressed her ear to its little chest. It had no heartbeat.

In a moment, she had dropped the little animal and stared at it in horror. It was _dead_. She had never seen a dead thing before.

She had cried for weeks over the poor turtle duck, and had nightmares about its lifeless body on the ground.

It seems wrong to her that they would do that to people, that they would take their heartbeat away. Who would cry over these people? Did they have families? Did they have little girls like her at home?

"I don't understand," she says suddenly, interrupting the instructor. "Why did we conquer them?"

The man looks startled that she would interrupt such an important speech, but he only shakes his head sadly. "Because we're better than them. Because we are superior." He smirks. "Because this is our right."

That doesn't seem like a good enough reason to her.

Later that night, the Princess Azula writes a letter to General Iroh.

_Uncle Iroh, _

- it says -

_I don't think that I like war_.

* * *

10.

Azula is snooping around the palace. She should be studying in her room, but she's tired of studying and she's not allowed to really play anymore – _you're too old, _they told her – and so she's wandering around the hallways, trying to discover secret passages. She knows they exist, because she's read and asked about them, but no one will tell her where any of them are.

She's in one of the small libraries, the one that houses books on the Water Tribes. It seems that although they hate everyone else, they have amassed large collections of (mis)information on all of them. The princess had snuck past the librarians at the front desk, and is now pulling on all of the books in the hopes that the pressure release will reveal a hidden passageway and give her an adventure.

Standing on her tippy-toes, she pulls on a book on the third shelf – _Tales of the Moon and Ocean – _and she is surprised that she cannot pull on it. It feels like it is stuck to the shelf. Azula pulls harder, and is rewarded with a light _click_ as the entire bookshelf seems to come free from the wall. Carefully, she pushes on the shelf and it swings to reveal a dark and dangerous-looking passageway behind the wood paneling.

"Wow," Azula breathes. She hadn't actually expected to find anything, but this was much more entertaining than reading about the conquest of the southwestern Earth Kingdom ports, and here she had found a secret passage.

Excitedly, she steps in. The bookcase swings and closes behind her, but she barely notices. The passage is unlit and cobwebs caress her face like a fresh breeze from the south, and she smiles as she walks. She can tell from the cobwebs that she is the first in a long time to have found this passage, and she is proud that she has finally accomplished something.

She isn't paying attention, and her nose hits a wall. "Ow," she says before pushing on the would-be door. It doesn't open. The girl throws her entire weight behind it and it bursts open. She lands on the floor, and gets up to shake the cobwebs and dust off –

"Princess Azula," a smooth voice intones behind her. She freezes in her actions and warily turns.

It is her grandfather. Fire Lord Azulon.

She has never seen his face before, but she recognizes it from the pictures in her book and the tapestries everywhere in the palace and city. He looks so serene, so unlike what she had expected, sipping a cup of tea and observing her.

Azula bows low, hands clasped tightly behind her back. "Lord Azulon," she says, voice shaking slightly. She does not stand up from her bow.

Azulon watches his namesake as she nervously shakes in front of him. He cannot blame her. She knows that she is not the favored child. But Azulon has never been one for following conventions or paying notice to his son's passing fancies. He takes a sip of his black tea – imported or stolen from the Northern Water Tribe's stores, he isn't certain – and says, "Join me."

Nervously, she wipes her sweaty hands on her gold pants and sits on a low, black cushion across from her grandfather. Her eyes are riveted on the table, and he finds it amusing and flattering that she is so afraid of him that she won't even look at him.

"I first found that passageway when I was about your age," he says. His granddaughter looks up at this, and he can see her brilliant golden orbs that shine with a kind-of-innocence and curiosity. "It is commendable that you were able to discover it as well."

"Thank you, my Lord," she says, inclining her head.

"I presume that it was built to give the Fire Lord an escape route if the palace was ever attacked. On this side, it is triggered by pulling on that lantern," and the Fire Lord nods his head toward a luminescent red-and-gold lantern. Azula's eyes glance over at it, but she still stares down at the table.

"I have been getting excellent reports about her lessons. Do you enjoy your lessons, Princess Azula?"

"Yes, my Lord."

Azulon takes a sip of tea. "You are going to the Academy in a few months, are you not?"

"Yes, my Lord."

His eyes observe her. She seems to have calmed down; she realizes that she is not going to get into trouble. "Very good. You are dismissed, Princess."

Azula stands up and bows before leaving. She looks back once and there is a small smile on her face.

The Fire Lord smirks. His youngest son had spent his entire lifetime hating his older brother, the firstborn child, and now he has shown disdain for his own firstborn.

Azulon does not think it coincidence.


	4. the door out stands wide open

**Title:** ab igne ignem capere  
**Chapter Title: **the door out of the fairy-tale stands wide open  
**Author:** honestly_sangi / Sangi  
**Prompt:** 31_days ; june 27th: the door out of the fairy-tale stands wide open  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own A:TLA or anything contained within or related to it.  
**Word Count: **8227  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters: **Zhao, Ursa, Azula, Iroh, Ozai, Jeong Jeong  
**Author's Notes:** This is my idea of an alternate universe in which Azula was born first, is generally unloved, and turns out to be a kind-of hero.

Interlude on Zhao. In this chapter, we will see where this Zhao differs from the Zhao we see in the series.

Ab igne ignem capere -  
To light a fire with fire  
- Cicero

_This feeling calls for everything I am not  
__This feeling calls for everything I can't afford  
__Where do I go when every no turns to maybe?  
_- Vienna Teng, Stray Italian Greyhound

* * *

0.

Zhao has only loved once.

He will never love again.

* * *

1.

Zhao is five when he first meets her. It is a cool winter day, and his parents and he are in the capital for the season. Every night his mother and father disappear into their apartments and his mother puts on her face paint and becomes young and beautiful and his father puts on his official General's uniform. They then get in the carriage pulled by the komodo rhinos and head up to the palace for dancing and dinner, but his mother never forgets to kiss her son on the forehead before she leaves.

Tonight is different. He knows that as soon as he steps into the house and the servants are bustling around, the hub of disruption being the kitchen. The little boy frowns. If his parents are going up to the palace, then why does it appear as if the servants are cooking a formal meal?

Dodging several maids, he makes his way into the kitchen. It is loud and there is clamoring – the banging of pots and pans – and he quickly makes his way back out again and heads to see where his parents are. What is going on?

He finds them in their apartments. They are preparing for dinner, but mother is wearing a more casual outfit and so is his father. His father is reading _The Treatise of Defense, _a new tome on defense strategy by another prominent general, and his mother is watching in the mirror as a maid carefully maneuvers her hair into a top-knot.

"Mother?" he asks, "Why are we eating dinner at home tonight?" Most nights, Zhao eats dinner alone with his personal maid. She is quiet and does not speak to him.

Qiao, his mother, pats her head cautiously to make sure that her hair is in place. "Because, my dearest, some of my friends are coming over this evening to eat with us. They are an important political family." She looks over and smiles at him conspiratorially. "Xifeng is the daughter of Avatar Roku, you know. But you shouldn't tell anyone that. We met when we were both at the Academy."

"Oh," Zhao says inadequately. Everyone knows about Avatar Roku. His father, wearing his gold-rimmed spectacles, looks up from his book and smirks lightly. "Should I be getting dressed?" He looks down at his clothes, dirty from practicing his firebending outside. He had only started two weeks ago, and his instructor said he had progressed quite well so far.

"Suyin," his mother says imperiously and the maid snaps to attention, bowing quickly. "Take Zhao to his quarters and dress him. I want him to be prepared. Xifeng is bringing her young daughter so you two can meet."

Zhao supposes that this is supposed to signify something, but to him it doesn't and he obediently follows Suyin back and lets her wash him, dress him, and fix his hair. By the time they are done, the guests have arrived. He can hear their voices from the entryway – one is low and dark, close to sinister but welcoming at the same time; the other is mellow and seems to him the perfect voice with which to tell stories.

He quickly heads to where they are, simply following the beautiful voice. Once he is within sight of them, he can see that the woman is as attractive as her voice. He can also tell she is not a firebender by the sight of her un-callused hands. Firebenders always have calluses on their hands. Her eyes are almond-shaped and her mouth is small but shaped nicely, and to Zhao she is practically the most beautiful thing she has ever seen.

His mother, smiling with her red bow of a mouth, pulls him forward. He can now see that there is a small bundle in her arms that is making unidentifiable noises. "This is my son, Zhao. Zhao, this is Xifeng and her husband Weisheng."

Xifeng smiles at Zhao, and her husband simply looks indifferent. "Hello, little Zhao. This is my darling Ursa." Carefully, she peels back the blankets so that they lay over her arms.

The woman reveals a baby, perhaps a year or so old. Zhao can tell right away that it is a girl, discounting her name, because she is the striking image of her mother. "Hello, Ursa," he says, and cautiously touches the softness of her cheek. "My name is Zhao."

Ursa's eyes open. They are gold, but unlike his gold or any other eyes he has seen. They simply vibrate with life and goodwill and kindness – and perhaps purity – but they are amazing and he stares at her, dumbfounded.

She smiles, and effortlessly steals his heart.

* * *

2.

His life is fairly predictable after that. Because his parents are friends with her parents, and also because they probably expect them to marry someday, he sees Ursa often. They grow up as friends, visiting each other's homes during the long summer months and seeing each other in the city in the winter, while their parents play up at the palace.

Xifeng is the most gracious woman he has ever seen. She is quite pleasant to talk to, and when Zhao visits their house she does not mind telling Ursa and him stories about her father, the Avatar Roku, and his wife Ta Min. She doesn't only tell them the stories that everyone knows – the Avatar stories that are inscribed in scrolls – but the stories about how he liked fire flakes and wrote poems about phoenixes.

"My father," her stories will start, and they will go on to describe both fantastical tales and every day, commonplace stories. Zhao's favorite story is how Roku and Fire Lord Sozin had been friends and had learnt to firebend together, but he also likes the stories about Roku's dragon guide and life-long friend, Fang. Ursa prefers the story about how Roku and Ta Min fell in love and had her mother, Xifeng.

Neither Ursa nor Zhao tell anyone that she is related to the Avatar; it could, her mother warns, ruin her life. Being the granddaughter of Avatar Roku is not necessarily a good thing in this world.

When Ursa turns six, she begins to attend the Academy for girls. Then they can only see each other in the summertime, when she is on break from school. Zhao continues his at-home tutoring in lessons and in firebending. They do not get to see each other much, but their reunions are full of happiness and smiles and everything between the two.

Zhao realizes that he loves her when he is fourteen. She is nine and ridiculously young, practically too young, but she is adorable and when she smiles there is a dimple on her right cheek. She is serious, for a little girl, and spends most of her time reading. She is not a firebender. She has no calluses on her hands – the skin is soft, delicate.

By the time Zhao is fifteen, he is a proficient firebender. But he is not a master.

One day his father requests to have tea with him. He sits across from his father nervously – it isn't often that he speaks with the General on a one-to-one basis because Jianjun is a busy man who spends most of his days at the palace, consulting with General Lei over plans in the Earth Kingdom. His hands fidget in his lap as his father observes him quietly.

Finally he says, "You are progressing nicely, Zhao."

"Thank you, father," he replies and relaxes as he realizes that he is not in danger of being punished.

"You know that I have always expected you to attend the military academy," his father states rhetorically.

Zhao nods his head and reaches out to take a sip of his tea. He is overly hasty and the scalding tea burns his tongue.

His father smiles lightly and takes a delicate sip of the spice tea. "Plans have changed, son. I have arranged for you to attend the Naval Academy at the palace, beginning next year."

The boy pauses in replacing his tea cup, brows furrowing. "May I ask why you have changed your mind, father?"

"I have a premonition that the navy will become even more instrumental during your generation," is all Jianjun says. "After you graduate from the academy I have apprenticed you to Admiral Jeong Jeong, who is a firebending master in his own right. The apprenticeship will last as long as necessary."

Zhao is not particularly surprised. The navy had been instrumental at the beginning of the war, when they had taken over the eastern Earth Kingdom sea ports. However, the Fire Nation had not yet led a full affront on the Water Tribes, for which a strong and illustrious navy would be necessary. His father is very intelligent indeed. He is more startled about his apprenticeship to a firebending Master that is known for losing several students a year to desertion.

_Jeong Jeong? He is a legend… _thinks Zhao. "I will not shame you, father," he says respectfully. "I will not shame our family."

"Yes," the older man agrees. "You will bring honor to us."

His father's face is lined with wrinkles where once his skin was smooth. His eyes, a light brown, are weary and full of ennui where laughter had previously resided. Once he had been full of ambition and enthusiasm, eager to help in the effort to conquer the world. But things have changed. Time has passed, and war is a harsh mistress.

Zhao's resolve hardens. "I know what is expected of me, father." He sets his cup down and rises. He connects his hands and bows very low.

"I will not disappoint."

* * *

3.

The end of spring is approaching, and the weather outside is still nice, at least in the capital. The stifling heat is yet to come, but the weather is warm enough that the dragon-fireflies come out at night. It is twilight and they are already glowing effervescently, attracted to the warmth of the lanterns. Zhao smiles as he sees them; Ursa and him always caught dragon-fireflies in the summer, and they would keep them in glass containers until their lights would dim. Zhao never wanted to let them out of the jars, but Ursa always let them go free.

"I would hate to be caged," she would say, carefully unscrewing the top of the jar, "so I let them free." And suddenly, as if refreshed, the little dragon-fireflies would buzz and swarm past him. He didn't mind, because it would make Ursa smile. Zhao would do anything for her smile.

Now, his last day at the Naval Academy for a week, he heads back to his own quarters in the palace slowly, taking in the sight of a beautiful sunset. The sky is a blood-red color with orange at the center, and yellow bordering the sides. Streaks of pink and purple highlight the sun's rays. Behind him, a door opens, but he pays it no mind and continues to walk slowly.

"Zhao!" a feminine voice exclaims. He stops and turns around.

A woman is smiling at him, and for a moment he does not recognize her – it has been two years and she has aged. But the shape of her eyes is the same, and her smile is kind. "Lady Xifeng," he greets and bows. "It has been too long." _Far too long, _his mind supplies.

"Yes," she agrees. "We are staying in the palace. Lord Azulon has requested my husband's help in the building of a new prison. You know Weisheng is a renowned architect," she adds.

Zhao grins at her. "Will you be here all summer? I have this next week off, so I will be able to visit your family."

Xifeng laughs, a tuneful sound like wind chimes blowing in a spring breeze. "Oh, yes, we will be here all summer. Ursa is here with us, as you know the Academy lets the girls come home for break. She graduates in two years, and has been doing very well." She sends Zhao a sly glance. "In fact, I know that she is in the southwestern library at this very moment, if you would like to see her. Is your mother here?"

"No," he answers, "my parents are in North Chung-ling right now. From there my father is traveling east to the Earth Kingdom."

"That is too bad," Ursa's mother commiserates. "We will see you, I hope."

Zhao bows and assures her that he will visit them while he is on break. He then hurries to the southwestern library. It is a medium-sized library with only two kind and elderly librarians. He quickly assures them that he does not need any assistance, and instead heads to her favorite place.

He finds her on the windowsill – she loves windowsills, loves to look outside while she is reading and see the animals and she most of all loves the sunset. A book is lying in her lap while she leans her head against the wall, her head near the window. Partially facing the sunset, half of her face is in the light and the other half shrouded in shadows.

She is the same but different. Her eyes are still golden, but some of the purity is gone, replaced by knowledge and wisdom. Brown hair is precisely pinned in a fashionable court style, and her ears have delicate black pearl earbobs in them. But her mouth is the same – a masterpiece of rose-tulip pink and laughter.

"Well," the firebender says, loudly enough for her to hear, "you are every inch the young court lady. It seems that the Academy has made a swan out of a duckling."

Ursa looks up, brows angrily lowered, obviously about to snap at whoever interrupted her quiet time, but freezes the moment she sees who it is. The large book drops out of her lap and falls to the floor; the loud noise echoes throughout the empty room, reverberating off of shelves. "Zhao?" she asks disbelievingly.

"The one and only," he says cockily, smirking.

She makes a small shriek and runs to throw herself at him. He laughs, dark and deep and elated, and spins her around before putting her on the ground. Neither of them let go of the other. "Oh, so much must have happened to you since I last saw you two summers ago," she says into his chest. Ursa pulls back, gold eyes scrutinizing and meeting his. Her hand reaches for his and pulls him backward to sit with her on the windowsill. "Tell me everything," she pleads. "My life and lessons are excruciatingly boring, but your training must be exciting!"

Zhao is looking at her with something in his eyes that she doesn't understand and the intensity of it makes her somewhat uncomfortable.

"What?" she demands, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he replies, tangling her fingers with his, "I just missed you."

* * *

4.

"Mmhmm," his instructor says, carefully inspecting his opponent's last move on the pai-sho board. "Your strategy is interesting. I have only met one other who employed the white dragon tile so aggressively." Finally, he smiles faintly and moves his jasmine tile.

Zhao quickly moves his rose tile to intercept it. "Oh?"

"Yes," his instructor answers, "Fire Lord Sozin also was a great fan of the white dragon tile. I, however, prefer the white lotus tile." Then, in a maneuver that Zhao did not foresee, the white lotus tile is in the middle of the board and Master Zaku has defeated him.

The younger firebender inclines his head in respect. "You are truly a master at the game of pai-sho, Master Zaku."

The old man smiles, grey mustache moving slightly with the movement. "You are young yet, youthful Zhao. You have many years to become a master."

"I only hope that I can be as good as you, Master."

Zaku only keeps his smile and reaches out his hands to warm a pot of tea on the table next to them. "Tea, young Zhao?"

Zhao sniffs the air delicately and grins. Ginseng. "I would be honored, Master Zaku. Ginseng tea is my favorite."

Tea is poured for the both of them, and Zaku passes a porcelain cup to Zhao. Zhao takes a sip of tea; it is bitter.

"You have grown much since I first met you, Zhao. Soon you will be graduating. What plans do you have for after your graduation?"

_Has it really been so long? _Zhao wonders. _It barely seems a year._ "I have been apprenticed to Master Jeong Jeong to learn more in the art of firebending. It is a most fortuitous chance."

"Ah, Jeong Jeong. He, also, is a master of pai-sho. Perhaps the two of you will play and may learn from each other."

There is a mischievous glint in Zaku's eye. "Do not tell me, Master Zaku, that Master Jeong Jeong also favors the use of the white lotus tile," Zhao sighs.

Shrugging, the old man closes his eyes and takes a sip of tea. "I will admit," he grins, "that Jeong Jeong's strategy utilizes the white lotus tile."

"Well, from what I have heard Master Jeong Jeong believes deeply in the art of discipline. I doubt that we will have much time to play pai-sho."

"Jeong Jeong is not a harsh master; he simply wants to ensure that the Fire Nation and its people realize the consequences of their actions." Zaku's eyes take on a haunted, searching look before he closes them almost-painfully. "While we sit here in our safe home, others die for the price of our domination. Jeong Jeong wants to instill the idea that firebending is not a weapon; it is a gift that should not be used for destruction… too easily can firebending be used for destruction…"

Zhao knows that Master Zaku had once been a Commander in the army, and that his firebending skills are renowned, although he has not been known to firebend in many years. Like many who had come back from war, he had become a pacifist and had settled down to teach. The memories that would one day haunt his father already haunted Zaku, and Jeong Jeong too. _War is too harsh a mistress, _Zhao thinks, _too harsh a burden to bear._

He sits respectfully in silence for a few moments, sipping his bitter ginseng tea and waiting for Zaku to return to the present. The sun is almost at its zenith now, and the shadows are quickly disappearing, as if they assimilating back into their original bodies. Finally, Zaku's eyes reopen, dazed.

"I apologize, young master Zhao. Sometimes the past catches up with me. However, let us not dwell on the past, and instead think of the future."

"Yes, Master Zaku. Would you care for another game of pai-sho?"

"Of course," Zaku says. He smiles as if he knows a secret. "But pai-sho is much more than a game."

* * *

5.

Sweat runs down his brow; the sun beats down on him relentlessly. He slides his foot back and brings his arm up in a basic firebending stance. His fists clench and he closes his eyes for a brief moment before letting out a large breath. _Control the fire, _he thinks in his mind, _do not let it control you_.

"Begin," a voice says.

Quickly Zhao twists his body to the side to narrowly avoid being blasted with a stream of fire; rotating quickly, he kicks and blasts fire back. His opponent had anticipated this move and he pushes his hand forward to deflect the fire. They face each other, circling and waiting for the other to make a move.

With a burst of speed, Zhao moves forward with a punch armed with fire and the other man brings up a kick swirling with flames to block. For a minute, it hand-to-hand combat with small balls of fire attached to limbs – swirling and twisting – and Zhao drops to the ground and kicks the feet out from underneath the other man.

He finishes with a swirl and his hand is pointed at the other man's throat – the other man who is now lying prone on the ground. The other man closes his eyes and lets out a long breath.

"Very good, Zhao. However, you have not mastered this set. You must do it again."

Zhao drops his hand and turns around, panting from exertion. "This is the fifth time today! I have mastered this; let me move on to the next set!" His former opponent straightens up, backs away, bows, and leaves while he is not watching. Jeong Jeong is an older man, but he is not to be underestimated: he is one of the strongest firebenders in the entire Fire Nation.

Jeong Jeong shakes his head. "Fire is simply an extension of who you are – you must let it free while being able to control it. You _must _control the fire. You cannot let it control you, or you have already lost."

He angrily clenches his fists. "I can control the fire!" But even as he speaks, his hands are bursting with furious flames that flicker with the force of his fury.

Jeong Jeong only smiles cruelly. "Come, then," and beckons him.

Zhao is no match for Master Jeong Jeong, and the fight is over in a moment. Red and yellow and orange flash - and he is down on the ground, breathless.

"You have not mastered this. You cannot control the fire within you!"

The man on the ground lets out a sigh that is half-disappointment and half-exasperation. He closes his eyes and lets the sun beat down on him, listening to his teacher. This is not the first time this has happened; no one can call Zhao a patient man, and his impatience on the topic of discipline has gotten him into trouble with Jeong Jeong numerous times. He turns his face to the side in shame.

"Are you listening to me, Zhao? Do you not understand the gravity of this?" Jeong Jeong's voice rises in intensity and volume. "If you cannot control the fire, you can hurt everyone you love! Do you want that?"

_Blood… it smells like blood and ashes and he can taste the copper on his tongue – it's a horrible taste and it settles it like it's at home. He can see their faces – his mother and his father and the scent of burnt hair and oh, it's horrible. Her face is the worst – even in fear she is beautiful, but she is burning. Her golden eyes are wide with horror and reflected in them the fire burns high around her… he can practically hear her scream…_

"Do you want that, Zhao?" Asks Jeong Jeong quietly.

"No," he whispers, opening his eyes determinedly. "I don't. I apologize for my impertinence, Master Jeong Jeong."

Jeong Jeong nods his head. "Get into the correct stance. I will take you through the set again."

Hours later, Zhao is haunted by the image of her terrified visage. As he tries to sleep, he hears her scream.

"I don't want to hurt her," he whispers to the darkness. "I couldn't bear it."

* * *

6.

After he is finished with his apprenticeship under Jeong Jeong, he is stationed in the Earth Kingdom. At first, he is attached to the navy. However, the Fire Nation already rules the seas, and so he is moved to the army, stationed in a desolate desert

He is one of three firebenders among his troop, and he spends most of his time with them during the day, practicing. At night, they patrol.

Zhao has been stationed four months in the desert, and the night is icy. Although the desert is unbearably hot during the day, at night it can be freezing cold. He is wrapped in fur-lined robes, but even with that his body shivers uncontrollably as he patrols. Normally he would regulate his temperature with firebending, but the cold keeps him awake.

The most amazing thing about being in the middle of nowhere, he muses, is that the stars are absolutely magnificent at night. He has seen no less than four meteor showers since he came here.

"So cold," he whispers. As he raises his hands to his mouth to blow warm steam on them, he sees something in the distance. _What is that? _A chilling breeze ruffles his hair and he shivers miserably before moving on, moving closer to the object.

By the time he has gotten closer, he can see that it is a tower. A spiraling tower that rises like a mountain out of the shifting, transient hills of sand; there is a window just barely peeking out of the sand. The wind blows and reveals a fox-like creature creeping over the hills, something like a scroll dangling out of its mouth. It slinks in through window and disappears.

Zhao follows him.

He falls into a room filled to the brim with bookcases. On the floor there are scrolls filled with familiar writing as well as open books whose pages are covered with illegible scrawls and illustrations and maps that show lands he has never seen. His hands trace the symbols on the scrolls; water, earth, fire, air.

The scrolls contain basic bending moves. He steps out of the tower only to see gigantic spaces that lead to other rooms, each area overwhelmingly marked with the symbols of the four elements. He wanders over to the nearest portal and to a pile of scrolls, all marked with the symbol for the Earth Kingdom. He picks one out that looks promising, and begins to read.

"This is amazing…" he breathes. This information…

Soon the firebender loses track of time. Once he has read as many Earth Kingdom scrolls as he can, he moves onto the Air Nomads. Although they are extinct, there are rumors that the lost Avatar is an airbender that is hiding from the world until he believes himself powerful enough to end the war. Either that or he is a coward.

These scrolls are interesting and give him invaluable knowledge about the people of the elements and their secrets and cities, but this is nothing compared to what he finds out while he is exploring the section on the Water Tribes.

He picks up a scroll with the three blue swirls of the water people, unknowing that it will give him the power to destroy a nation – the power to unbalance the world.

"Tui… and La," he says with a smirk. His hand rubs his chin thoughtfully. "They are the two opposing forces; good and evil, yin and yang."

Without the moon, the waterbenders have nothing. Without the moon, he can conquer the universe.

Zhao rolls up the scroll and slips it up his sleeve. Suddenly he feels a presence behind him. Slowly, he turns around. There is a giant owl watching him. Its eyes are beady and they blink at him ponderously. "Leaving so soon, Lieutenant Zhao?" The spirit, whose name he presumes is the one he is seen all over the library – Wan Shi Tong – asks him.

The firebender bows in respect. "I have learned much, Wan Shi Tong. I ask that I may leave your library in peace, and I thank you for the invaluable knowledge."

The owl ruffles his feathers. "You may leave, Lieutenant Zhao, as long as your information does not come to harm others."

"You have my word, Wan Shi Tong."

* * *

7.

"Ah, you seem to favor the white lotus tile, General Iroh." Zhao observes the pai-sho board and moves forward his tile to make a harmony.

Iroh smiles. "Yes, I do have peculiar strategy with the lotus tile. However, all the tiles in this game are equally important. Without one single tile, the entire game would be unbalanced."

"That is an interesting way to look at the game."

"Oh, it is not simply the way of pai-sho, but the balance of the universe itself. Everything depends on everything else, in a circle of never-ending opposites and equilibrium."

Zhao smiles crookedly. "You are very similar to my old teacher, Master Zaku. You two seem very alike."

Iroh's eyes take on a distant look. They are gold, just like his, and also like those of the Fire Nation Royal Family. However, his eyes are filled with some semblance of wisdom while Fire Lord Azulon's are filled with distance and Ozai's are filled with disdain. "Yes, Master Zaku and I were well acquainted before his death. His passing is truly a tragedy." At this, a twinkle returned to his eyes. "He was a pai-sho master, and also a lover of tea."

"I miss visiting him and playing pai-sho with him. I came away from every game awed and with a new strategy." Zhao sighs. "He was my favorite instructor. Everything I have done I owe to Master Zaku."

Iroh nods sagely. "Yes, he was a very accomplished and amazing man. We will mourn him for a long time to come."

They sit in respective silence for a few moments, even though the pai-sho board lies on the table and the game is unfinished. General Iroh is several years older than Zhao, and although they are very different men they are brought together by similar experiences and interests. Also, they both like ginseng tea.

The night is falling, and servants are coming around to light the lanterns carefully, with small flames on their fingers. They light them one by one, the lights flickering on, the lanterns waving with the slight breeze. The servants bow to Iroh and Zhao as they pass, and the two incline their heads back.

The future Dragon of the West observes the lieutenant quietly. Zhao is a distant relative to the royal family through his father's side, and so they are often at the palace, taking advantage of their kinship whenever they can. When Zhao was a young boy, Iroh was a teenager and he would often watch his brother Ozai firebend. Zhao would watch also, and they would stand in silence and watch his brother progress. He is a different man than he was when they were younger, although that is only to be expected. His eyes are filled with knowledge and a thirst… an unquenchable thirst… for what he thirsts, the General does not know.

Zhao's voice brings him back into reality. "What do you know of the spirit world, and the spirits themselves, General Iroh?"

Iroh pats his prominent stomach thoughtfully. "I know only what I have learned from my studies, Lieutenant Zhao. I know that the spirit world is where our ancestors and dead preside, and also the spirits are beings that live in the spirit world." He scratches his head. "I would not know how to describe a spirit, but I do know that some spirits reside in this world. Before he disappeared, the Avatar was known as the connection between our world and the spirit world." His eyes are serious and bleak, not his usual humorous twinkle. "There is a delicate balance between the spirits and us. If that balance is broken, no one knows what would happen. Why do you ask, Zhao?"

"I had read something awhile back that interested me in the spirits, and I was only wondering if you knew something that may lead me to more understanding," Zhao replies.

The prince looks at him solemnly, almost suspicious. "You may want to ask the royal librarians for assistance. They may know if we have any tomes on the spirits."

The lieutenant inclines his head in respect.

"You must walk a fine line when you deal with the spirits," Iroh warns. "One wrong step, and the world will teeter on the edge of destruction."

Zhao smirks. "I am aware."

* * *

8.

It is winter, but Zhao is not cold. Instead, he is panting as he faces his opponent in the training yard. Gold meets gold as they circle around each other – one is shadowed and one is light, one is good and one bad; they are a never-ending ring of opposites. A wind blows past them, ruffling their hair. It smells of rain.

Abruptly Zhao's hand twists and shoots a stream of fire at his opponent, but the other man simply holds his hand up and turns to the side – it streams past him with a great whoosh of air. He counterattacks with a great blast of hot-hot-fire, but Zhao presses his hands together and pushes it outward, around him. They move in closer to each other, both of them blurring with a flurry of punches and kicks.

They finish with the tips of their fingers at each others' necks: a draw.

Finally Zhao drops his hands and bows, smiling. "A very good match. You are a fine opponent, Prince Ozai."

The prince straightens fully and smirks. "I could say the same of you, Captain Zhao."

Zhao looks up at the darkening sky. "I believe it may rain soon, my lord."

Ozai nods as he also observes the large thunderclouds above them. "I expect so."

They both turn their heads at the same time as they see movement out of the corner of their eyes. There is a woman walking under one of the covered walkways, a book tucked securely under her arm. She is looking away from them, but even from this far away both of them can admire the stubbornness of her chin and her high cheekbones. She continues to walk, unaware of the two men staring at her. Zhao recognizes her the moment that he sees her.

It is Ursa.

Ozai's voice interrupts his staring. "Beautiful, isn't she?" He is smirking in an ingratiating way. "That is the Lady Ursa. Her family line is disgraceful, related to the Avatar and all, but at least it means that she has firebending in her family."

Zhao looks away from the prince. "Yes, she is quite beautiful. Our families know each other."

"Oh, do they?" Ozai asks, as if he isn't paying attention. He probably isn't. "At first, she tried to tell me that her attentions lie elsewhere, but after awhile she was practically eating out of the palm of my hand." The firebender shrugs. "Oh, well. I wished that the chase would last longer."

"I am surprised that she was caught that quickly, my lord," Zhao says. His fists are clenching behind his back. He works to keep his body from tensing in anger. "She seems quite stubborn to me."

Ozai smiles. It is not a kind smile. "She was," he says. "In the beginning."

Rain begins to fall in small droplets against their faces, and they quickly raise their hands to cover their eyes. Zhao turns to Ozai and inclines his head. "It was an honor sparring with you, Prince Ozai. Perhaps I will have the chance again someday."

The other man nods his head. "It was also an honor and pleasure to spar with you, Zhao. If you ever feel the need to spar again, simply seek me out. I would be… elated." He turns and walks back into the palace, but looks back over his shoulder. "By the way, congratulations on your promotion, Captain."

An hour later finds Zhao drier, warmer, but still unbelievably angry. He stands behind a bookcase and watches as the woman he thought he loved reads a book. He cannot bring himself to talk to her. What would he say? Where would he even begin? The firebender shakes his head sadly and turns around to walk away.

"Zhao?" a soft voice calls out from behind him. "Is it you?" her voice continues, haunting him past understanding. He stops his movements and slowly turns to look at her.

"Lady Ursa," he returns, and bows. "I did not want to interrupt your reading."

She smiles at his stoic façade. "And when has that ever stopped you before? Come and sit. Tell me what has happened with you since I saw you last." Now that he is facing her fully, he can see that there is something missing in her eyes that used to be present. Where once they had been fully warm, there is a sense of restraint.

Zhao sits across from her, settling uncomfortably on the gold cushion, embroidered with dragons.

Ursa looks at him expectantly. "Well, tell me what's going on with you, silly!" she admonishes after he says nothing.

He shifts in his seat. "Last week I was promoted to Captain. In two weeks I will deploy with my ship, the Red Dragon."

"Really? That's amazing, Zhao. I'm so proud of you."

"Yes," he says. And then the firebender is silent.

Ursa watches him with her intense golden eyes. "Zhao?" she asks quietly. "Is there anything else that you want to tell me?"

He turns his face away from her, but speaks softly. "I have information that could lead to the ultimate defeat of the Water Nation. I have information that would write me into the history books as a hero, as a conqueror… I could gain so much status that I would be on a similar level to that of General Iroh."

She stares at him in incomprehension. "What are you going to do with this… information?"

His lip pulls into a small snarl. "Use it."

Her voice is small and tremulous, but he can still hear it. "Is it honorable? Because it doesn't sound like it is very honorable to me."

"It depends on your definition of honor."

Bitterly, Ursa laughs. "You would give up everything in your life, even your honor, so you could kill off an entire people? An entire way of life, a living culture?" she asks.

"Yes." _No, _his mind says. _That isn't why you're doing it. Not anymore_. _If I could be that powerful, then maybe…_

"Don't do it."

"What?"

"Don't," she says firmly, "do it."

Zhao snorts and steam trails out. His brows are angrily furrowed. "Why? Why would I not utilize this information?"

"Because your honor is at stake; because your mother would be disappointed in you; because your father would be disappointed in you. Because I would be disappointed in you." Her eyes stare unblinkingly into his and he is enraptured. "Because I am asking you to."

After this, they sit in silence, neither one willing to concede to the other.

Unexpectedly, he says – "I thought your family was staying in the country for the winter."

And then he has the upper hand and she looks away. "They are."

The man watches as her lower lip trembles. "But you are here, in the palace, without them."

"Yes."

Small flames burst out of his hands and she looks up in fear, but they are already gone, transient and fleeting. "I never thought I would see you reduced to this level," he speaks in a low voice. "You are practically begging for treats like a poodle monkey."

And suddenly, she is angry and her harsh voice grates upon his ears. "You think I want to be here? You think that I want to be the plaything of some prince?"

"Obviously you do, or you would be gone by now." He shoots back.

The tempest is over in less than a moment. Her eyes are troubled and anxious and although she is as she always was, there is something about her that makes him long to reach out and comfort her. She is beautiful, and always will be. "Not everything is about want, Zhao. Sometimes it is about necessity."

He straightens out abruptly, shaking the dust off his pants. His movements are hurried and she can tell that he wants to leave as soon as possible. Zhao can feel anger, deep in his chest, growing like an almost-erupting volcano. He pushes it down. There is nothing that he can do now. The war is lost.

The captain turns around; he cannot bear to see her face any longer.

"Do you love him?" he wants to know.

"No!" she says defiantly.

"But you do not love me." It is not a question.

"No," Ursa whispers brokenly.

"Then why?"

"Because I would do anything to protect the ones I love."

He smiles; it is bittersweet, filled with memories of the past and now-gone hopes for the future. "I would do anything for you. Anything, and yet he does nothing." He sounds disgusted at the thought.

"I love you," he says finally, and it is almost desperate in its intensity.

Ursa looks away; a tear rolls down her cheek. "I know."

Zhao begins to walk away, shoes scuffing slightly on the marble of the library floors. His steps are slow and deliberate and he wants to break down – but he can't. Not yet. He continues to the door, but her voice stops him as he opens it.

"Are you going to do it? Are you going to eliminate the Water Tribes?"

He pauses in the doorway. "No. Not anymore." The door slams resoundingly behind him.

* * *

9.

Two weeks pass, and neither talks to the other. Zhao only sees Ursa once – she is in the distance, sitting near a pond. Ozai stands behind her, talking. He cannot see either of their faces, but he doesn't want to, and continues to walk away. He acts like it doesn't matter, but it does. It truly does.

Now he walks up the metal gangplank of the Red Dragon. The bent iron is smooth as he runs his hands over the railing. The smell of the ocean is surrounding him, returning like a lost friend, and the soft push and pull of the water rocks the ship even in the harbor. She is an iron monstrosity, superior to the ships of the other nations, and he loves her the first time he sees her.

"Captain Zhao!" a man calls from behind him. He turns around, only to see General Iroh smiling and merrily making his way onto the ship. "I wanted to catch you before you sail off into the sunset," he explains.

"General Iroh," Zhao greets respectfully. "I am surprised to see you here. I thought that your troops were also deploying today.

The other man smiles. "Oh, they are. I simply came to talk to you before you left. You have been a good pai-sho partner."

Zhao laughs at this. "Not if you beat me every time." Iroh laughs also, and the men on deck watch curiously as the two seemingly powerful men talk.

Iroh grins crookedly. "You have plenty of time to become a master." And the words are so reminiscent of Master Zaku that for a moment he doesn't even see Iroh, but a much older and more serious man standing in front of him. But a sea breeze blows by and shakes him from his thoughts.

The younger firebender turns his head until it is facing the ocean, watching as the turtle pelicans dive for fish. "I wanted to congratulate you on your engagement, General. The Lady Zhenzhen is a gentle and kind woman, and surely you two will make a wonderful couple."

"Thank you, Captain Zhao. Do you know the Lady Zhenzhen?"

"Our families are distantly related, that is all. I have only talked to her a handful of times, but she appeared to be a very loving girl." Zhao replies.

Iroh nods his head solemnly, also facing the ocean now. "Yes, and lines of firebending run deep in her family. She will make a good wife." He glances over at Zhao. "Perhaps you have heard the rumors that my brother will be soon engaged as well?"

"I cannot say I have. What lady does he prefer?" Zhao asks, leaning his arms against the rail of the ship. Salt floats to hit his eyes and make them burn, but he doesn't seem to notice or care.

"The Lady Ursa. She has not been at court long - she is so young, but she is truly a remarkable woman. Do you know her?" Iroh is examining the captain from the corner of his eye.

Zhao nods his head. "Yes, I know her. Our families are friends. In fact, I have spoken to her recently, but she said nothing of getting engaged. But we are not close enough that she would tell me such a thing."

"Hmm," says Iroh. "Yes, she is a very private woman. Well, I must leave now. I need to prepare my ships for departure also. It was very pleasant talking to you, Captain Zhao. I wish you luck on your journey."

They both turn to face the gangplank and walk toward it. "I wish luck to you as well, General Iroh."

As Iroh begins his trek down the gangplank, he turns around for a moment, and his piercing eyes meet Zhao's. He feels like they can see straight into his soul. "You are a noble man, Zhao. I hope the world does not change you much." And then he is waving goodbye and walking toward the fleet that will take his troops to the Earth Kingdom. Zhao watches him walk until he is but a dot in the distance.

"Captain?" a nervous voice asks. He turns around to see the navigator of the ship. "Where are we going?"

Zhao examines the sky for a moment before answering. "Set a course for the southern Water Tribe."

* * *

10.

Zhao is much older now. Much older, but not much different. More tempered, more calm, but beneath it all he is the same boy practicing firebending in his parents' yard, listening to stories about the Avatar Roku, and falling in love with a child. He will always be the same, _but will anyone know? _He wonders_. How well can anyone know another person?_

He is sitting and filling out reports, a tedious activity that usually allows his mind to wander. He dislikes letting his mind wander; he doesn't like where it takes him. The door creaks open slightly and he looks over to see who is there. A small head, covered in black hair – half in a top-knot, the other half free – pops in to see who is there.

Azula smiles, walks in, and closes the door behind her. "The maids told me you would be here," she explains as she sits down and watches him work. He does not pause, but simply raises an eyebrow in response. "I was bored," she continues, "and so I decided to visit you."

He laughs, and the brush in his hand shakes with his laughter, spilling drops of ink onto the scroll. "You are such a delight," he murmurs.

"You are still taking me to the fire lily festival next week, right?" she asks, leaning closer to the table. Her eyes are filled with unknowing pleading.

Zhao nods. "Yes, princess. I am sorry that we couldn't go last year. But we will go down into the city next week and visit the festival."

She beams at him. "That's okay. I'm just so excited! I've never been to the city before. I've only ever been here, at the palace."

"Then it will certainly be an interesting trip. You leave for the Academy soon, don't you?" He asks absently.

"Yes. The Royal Fire Academy for Girls. I leave in a month."

The man's eyes look up at her slightly. "You don't sound too excited." He looks back down. "I will be deploying in six weeks," he continues.

Azula smiles tremulously. "Then we both have excellent timing."

She is older than when he had first met her. When she was younger, her face was shaped like her father – the aristocratic nose, pointed chin. But now that he has spent more time with her, and that her features have matured some, he can see traces of Ursa in her. Her mouth is a pink bow, just like hers, and her eyes sparkle with that effervescent joy and belief that had once been present in her mother's eyes.

He doesn't want Azula to lose that.

"I was thinking the other day," she says. "And I've decided that I don't understand the war."

Zhao looks at her. Her head is bowed and she is looking down at her lap where her hands are awkwardly fidgeting. "Oh?" he comments.

"Yes," she continues. "It just doesn't make sense to me. What makes them so different than us? Are we not all people? What makes it right for us to do such a thing?"

Her observation is astute and a bit startling. He had met mastermind generals who had thoroughly believed in their superiority, and here he watches a little girl look into the heart of the matter. He sets down the brush in his hand, putting it carefully where the ink won't run down the page and ruin it.

Finally, he says, "There is no true difference between us, Azula. That is the problem."

The little princess's brows furrow with all the indignation of a child. "Why are we fighting this war? What makes this war right?"

"We are fighting," Zhao answers, "because we wanted to rule the world and everyone else stood in our way. We fight because we've been doing it for so long that it is second-nature."

"That isn't right!" she exclaims.

Zhao's eyes meet hers and for a moment, just a moment, she is her mother. He looks away. "What we think is right is not what everyone else thinks is right. And war is never right, Azula."


	5. the world will never return

**Title:** ab igne ignem capere  
**Chapter Title: **the world will never return  
**Author:** honestly_sangi / Sangi  
**Prompt:** 31_days ; june 28th: the world will never return  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own A:TLA or anything contained within or related to it.  
**Word Count: **8657  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters: **Fire Nation Royal Family, Zhao, Ty Lee, Mai  
**Author's Notes:** This is my idea of an alternate universe in which Azula was born first, is generally unloved, and turns out to be a kind-of hero.

I am operating under the theory that the Academy is a boarding school that is away from the Capital, and that they only come back for their summer vacations. Also, I will be messing with timelines because, obviously, things will happen differently in this world.

Sidenote: I really do apologize for the delay in getting this out. I had planned to have this up way more than a week ago, but several unforeseen situations came up and I had to deal with them and the unpleasant consequences. I'm sure you don't want to hear my ranting, (ignoring the fact that this morning my refrigerator somewhat-broke) haha, and hopefully I will be able to put up the next update more swiftly. In addition, this is likely to have more mistakes.

I also still need to respond to reviews from last chapter, but thank you again to everyone.

Ab igne ignem capere -  
To light a fire with fire  
- Cicero

_The artist's impression looks just like me  
__Only better  
_- Imogen Heap, Glittering Cloud

* * *

0.

The first time Azula firebends, the flames are an icy blue.

She wonders what is wrong with her.

* * *

1.

He moves his hands carefully, manipulating the fire as if it was alive in his hands – and it is alive, breathing the atmosphere in and expanding, moving through the air like a serpent. He twists his wrist and transfers the fire from one hand to the other, making it swirl between his two arms. Finally, he thrusts out his fists and kicks at the same time, shooting a stream of fire out at the podium.

Zuko finishes and bows in front of the shadowed form of his grandfather. His breath is heavily labored but he has a look of smug satisfaction on his face.

Behind him, Ozai stands, also looking very satisfied. Ursa is next to him, and her face is indifferent. The flickering flames cast shadows onto their faces.

Azulon looks on from above, his face a deceptive mask. At last, he remarks, "You have progressed, Prince Zuko."

At this prompting, Zuko bows again and straightens up. "Thank you, Fire Lord," he says and walks to stand next to his parents proudly.

The Fire Lord smirks. "You should be proud of your children, Prince Ozai," he says. His son freezes and Azulon knows he has him. "You are dismissed." Almost clumsily, distracted by his words, Ozai bows and leaves the large room, wife and son trailing along behind him. The fires around the throne go out suddenly, darkening the room. The lanterns are promptly lit by the guards at the doors.

"You may come out now, Princess Azula," his voice calls out, reverberating through the large marble room. From behind a tall column a small body of a child emerges, and she briskly saunters up.

"How did you know I was there, Fire Lord?" she asks curiously, bowing and sitting down, her legs crossed underneath each other.

"I knew from the moment that you walked in the door, granddaughter, that you were here. I can feel the fire within you."

The girl's nose scrunches in confusion, and her eyes are an open book – she opens her mouth to speak. "But I can't bend, Lord Azulon. Not at all."

Azulon smirks. "Perhaps you have not bent yet, child, but you will. I can tell. There is a fire within you waiting to be stoked, and once you set it free, you will never be able to cage it." He watches as Azula's head cocks to the side, disturbed. "It will be a gift to you, not a burden."

"Oh." His granddaughter shrugs her shoulders delicately before leaning back on her hands. "Is Zuko really that good of a firebender?" she inquires, golden eyes filled to the brim with hope and wonder. "Could I be that good?"

His upper lip pulls back in a parody of a sneer. "Your brother is barely controlling the fire within him. Although fire is a wild entity, you must direct it. You must make a contract and walk the fine line between wild and tame – you must balance the yin and yang forces within you. He is not capable of this yet, and he may never be." The sneer drops from his face, once again an indifferent mask. "You, however, have the control necessary to let the wild fire free but direct its path. It is wild, but you are structured."

"Uncle Iroh once told me that we learned how to firebend from the dragons. Is this true?"

The Fire Lord observes the girl thoughtfully. "Yes, it is true that the dragons were the original firebenders. They had the power to let the fire free while containing it."

Azula's eyes turn sad, and she bows her face. "But all the dragons are gone now, aren't they?" Her question is full of melancholy.

"So we are told," Azulon replies. The little princess leans back to stare aimlessly at the ceiling. Her grandfather smiles lightly, and it is not as cruel as one would think. She is not an insolent child; she simply does not realize the disrespect she shows. And he can forgive her that. "You are leaving for the Academy in several weeks, are you not, princess?" he asks.

She nods. "Yes, I am leaving in three weeks and I will not be back until next summer."

"Very good. You are dismissed, Princess Azula."

Azula stands up, bows, and walks toward the doors to leave. Behind her, her grandfather's voice calls out –

"You will bend, Azula. And it will be magnificent."

* * *

2.

Fireworks explode magnificently in the night sky; the stars twinkle in the background, but they are quickly overtaken by green and red and yellow sparks that form into figures, dragons and other mythical creatures, but the most prominent figure is that of the fire lily, for which this festival is named. It is a beautiful red flower that is stunning in its simplicity: merely red, but rare and brilliant. And fleeting – so transient, there one moment and gone the next. The fireworks imitate them rather well.

For the first time in her short life, Azula is in the city. Not just the area meant for the nobles, which had been nice but rather uninteresting, but the area where most of the middle-class and artisans live. Down here, the festival is much livelier than anywhere else. There are so many stalls filled with items to celebrate the fire lily; she especially lingers over the exhibits of blown glass.

Beside her, Zhao walks peacefully, smiling at the way her eyes widen with every new experience and sight. She is so easily delighted that it is amusing. Each big smile or excited gasp is a treasure that he stores away in his box of memories. By the end of the first hour, her market bag is overflowing with various paraphernalia; a rather interesting gold hat decorated with fake fire lilies, a fire lily hairclip, and a delicate fire lily made from blown glass, which is carefully wrapped in cloth for the trip back to the palace, rate high on the list.

Her hand holding his, she beams up at him. "This is so much fun!" she exclaims. _No one here knows I'm a princess. No one here expects anything of me, not at all_. He smiles back down at her and says something, but the din of the crowd is so overwhelmingly deafening that she can't make out what the man is saying.

They walk on anyways, until they've escaped the main part of the festival and are standing in an abandoned courtyard, cushioned with grass and decorated with fountains. The lanterns are lit and they glow in the night, but most of the light comes from the ongoing display of fireworks above them.

"Thank you so much, Captain Zhao," she says as she flops down on the ground after dropping her bag. Azula looks up at the fireworks and smiles.

Zhao sits down next to her in the grass and leans his own head up to watch the show. "It was an enjoyable evening, yes. I hope that we will have the chance to do this again in the future."

Silently, she wonders when she will see him next. The princess leaves in four days to go to the Academy, and he leaves in five. Who knows when he will be back? She turns over on her side to watch him. "I'll miss you, you know," she whispers quietly.

The corner of his mouth quirks ironically. "I know. I will miss your company as well, Princess Azula."

"Do you think I'll make friends?" she asks idly, picking up a piece of grass and twirling it between her fingers.

"You are a bright and charming girl. I am sure that you will make friends."

She makes a small noise of agreement with underlying tones of uncertainty, and turns back to look up at the sky. The fireworks are still blasting away, but all she can focus on are the small, bright dots of the stars in the sky. They twinkle at her, as if calling her. "Do you think…" she begins, "that my parents will even notice that I'm gone?" There is a sad tone to the princess's voice, and when he looks over at her, her eyes have that distant look to them.

Zhao is struck by the fact that she is – what? six? – and yet she sits here and has to wonder if her parents care about her enough to note her absence. That brightness that lives in her eyes is dimmed at the moment, but he can see enough to tell that it is possibly dying. And he doesn't want it to die – he can't let it die. "I am sure that your parents will miss you also, princess."

Azula sighs. "I barely ever see them anyways, and even then only for short periods of time." She turns her head away from him, in the opposite direction. In the distance she can hear shouts of revelry and every once and awhile people walk through the various alleyways, their laughter carrying over to the two people lying in the grass. "I doubt they even remember me when I'm not around."

"I very much doubt that either of your parents could ever forget you," the captain says quite seriously. "Ever."

She sits up suddenly with this, and turns to look at him again. There is something that he doesn't recognize in her eyes, but it comes to him after a moment – hope. _Had he put that there? _he wonders.

"You really think so?" Azula asks in small voice.

Zhao smiles reassuringly at her, pleased. "I am positive that your parents think about you a lot more than you realize," he says, and he isn't lying.

Azula is beaming like she had been earlier, and her eyes close in bliss. The fireworks crackle above and the crowd is loud around them, but she is in her own world. The soft smile curves her mouth in a familiar way, and suddenly Zhao is struck by how she is truly her mother's daughter.

* * *

3.

Prince Ozai takes a sip of tea and deliberately watches his daughter squirm across from him at the low table. Her head is facing her lap and watching her hands, which are clasped together tightly. She is obviously uncomfortable. The prince sets down his tea cup and waits for her to look up. Finally, her head carefully tilts up, golden eyes wide. He frowns. They look like Ursa's.

"You will be leaving for the Royal Fire Academy for Girls in a few hours, Princess Azula." Ozai says. She is still giving him that look. "I will expect nothing but the best feedback from your instructors, as both your grandfather and I will be receiving reports on your work and behavior. Do you understand?"

Abruptly there is a mood change, and her eyes are saddened as they glance away from him. "Yes, father. I understand what is expected of me. I will try my best to bring honor to our family," she says quietly.

He snorts. "Your best," he says, "may not be enough. I expect perfection out of any child of mine."

"Yes, father," the princess says meekly.

Ozai examines her thoughtfully. "It is a pity that you cannot firebend," he muses.

She recoils slightly as if struck, but says nothing. He watches her for a few more moments, leisurely sipping at his black tea. Then he smiles. "You are dismissed, Azula. Go with the maids to the carriage that will take you to the port, then the ship will take you outside of the gates to a rural area where the Academy is. Remember not to misbehave."

Azula bows before standing up and following a maid out the doors; she leads her down the many hallways of the palace until they reach the doors that lead out to the stables. The maid leads her outside. In the courtyard there is a carriage waiting – it is a plain black carriage that could belong to any well-to-do family.

Absently, the princess wonders if this is for safety or for another reason. She doesn't want to know.

Her feet walk up the steps into the carriage, where two more mindful maids are sitting, hands folded in their lap and watching her with perceptive eyes. She makes an attempt to smile at them, but they do not respond, and her face falls. There is one window in the carriage, and she peels back the curtains to look outside as the rhinos start to pull it away from the palace and toward the docks, where her ship awaits.

"The city is pretty in the summer," she observes, but the two maids do not speak.

Giving up, she leans her chin on her hand and watches the city pass by; first they go through the upper city, through the nobles' homes, and then they continue on to the lower city, which is nowhere near as rich. They finally arrive.

Azula steps out of the carriage only to find it drizzling slightly. She pulls the hood up on her cloak. Two men from a nearby boat, which she assumes to be her boat, grab her luggage. She turns around to take one last look at the city.

It really is pretty in the summer.

"Princess Azula," one of the maids murmurs, now standing out in the rain and bowing, "we were told to give you this message." She pulls out a folded scrap of paper with a familiar seal.

The girl opens it.

_Princess Azula, _

_You will make friends. I do not doubt it. _

_I will see you again._

It is unsigned, but she needs no signature to know who it is from. Sealed inside had been a wooden piece – the white dragon tile. She smiles and bows shallowly to the maids and driver, even smiling at the rhinos, before walking across the gangplank onto the ship. The water rocks it unsteadily – she has never been on a boat before. But somehow she is not as worried or nervous as she had been before.

The men move around the ship and Azula simply watches as them configure everything on deck, before moving into the rooms allotted to her for the day trip. She fingers the tile in her pocket.

_I'll be fine. I know I will._

On a late summer afternoon, a ship carrying the Princess Azula leaves the harbor.

* * *

4.

Azula has never spent much time around other children. No one else in the palace would even come near her, so the only real experience she has is with her brother, who she has been mostly separated from because of her father. So as she stands in front of a class of possibly fifteen girls, she feels quite uncomfortable under their piercing gazes.

"It looks as if we have a new student. All of the other students introduced themselves to the class this morning. Perhaps you would like to introduce yourself and then we can begin?" The instructor says. The girls are still staring at her.

Her feet scuff against the floor as she moves them. The princess makes a small bow to the class. "I am Princess Azula, daughter of Prince Ozai and the Lady Ursa." Several girls in the back giggle, but the teacher sends them a look and they quickly shut their mouths.

"You may sit in the empty seat, Azula." The instructor promptly says.

The girl in question makes her way to the only empty seat in the class, next to the window. If she's careful, she might be able to look out of it when she gets bored in class. But her thoughts are distracted when something hits her in the back of her head. It bounces off and lands on the floor next to her desk. Curious, she picks it up – it is a crumpled scrap of paper. She looks around to see who threw it, but no one is looking back at her.

_This is a great first day,_ she thinks sarcastically.

When her classes are finally over and she has been to dinner – where she sits alone – she makes her way to the room they have assigned her. It is essentially bare except for a few key things: a bed, low table, desk, and armoire. Sighing, she heads to her luggage and begins to pull out her clothes, fold them, and put them away.

When she is finished, she takes out one last thing – a delicately crafted fire lily – and lays it gently on the windowsill. The light shines through the glass; it paints red on the white walls.

In fact, the princess sees, the entire school is Spartan in appearance. The walls are white and bare, and there is no show of wealth. She is somewhat surprised at this, because it is a renowned school in the Fire Nation, for very rich families only – royal children, nobles, and supremely wealthy merchants.

She finds the library relatively easily. It is large, easily as large as one of the libraries in the palace, and full of scrolls and books that look wonderful to her eyes. There are only two girls in the library – with one brown hair in a ponytail, and one with dark hair in pigtails. They ignore her, and she returns the favor. She walks down the aisles and trails her fingers along the spines of the books, and examines with her fingertips the symbols on the scrolls. She could spend hours in here.

Her feet pause as she comes across an interesting tome – _Theoretical Firebending. _Looking around to see if anyone's watching – no one is – she picks it off the shelf and finds herself a corner to open the book. There are diagrams explaining firebending and the art of firebending, not to mention firebending for beginners. That is only the first half of the book – the second half of the book focuses on control of the emotions, which should make a firebender stronger.

She smiles triumphantly; she picks up the book and carries it back to her room.

Azula can't firebend yet… but she will.

* * *

5.

Zuko routinely practices his firebending in the morning, because it is cooler outside then and afterward he can take a bath and go to his private lessons. His teacher is named Master Kim and he is an amazing and magnificent firebender and Zuko wants to be just like him when he grows up. Well, he wants to be his father as well. He's still not completely sure.

He is breathing hard once he finishes his moves, leaning over to let the sun shine down on his back. He rests his hands on his knees and breathes.

"Good, Prince Zuko." Master Kim says. "But you can do better."

Angrily, Zuko whirls. "I have mastered it! I am good!" he argues with heat in his voice.

Master Kim seems not to notice his emotional response. "You need more practice, Prince Zuko. You must remember to control the fire. Do not let it control you. You must control your emotions and breathe. Fire comes from the breath."

Zuko breathes smoke through his nose and settles into his stance again.

It is almost noon by the time they finish and Zuko must hurry to his chambers to dress for his formal lunch with his father. He does not know where his mother is. He doesn't see her as much anymore. His clothes are starchy and he hates sitting uncomfortably in front of his father, but he loves his father and he loves him so everything is okay in the end.

He bows as he enters the room. "Father," he intones.

"Zuko," his father answers. "Sit down."

Zuko sits down, shifting to make himself more comfortable. His father's golden eyes observe him, practically dissect him, and it makes the young boy feel awkward and out of place. _This is my place, _he thinks. _I am heir. This is my place. _

His reassurances mean nothing, but the act makes him feel better.

"How was your practice today?" Ozai idly asks as the servants set the table and pour the tea.

"Good," Zuko answers. "We practiced the Horse stance and went through the moves of the Flaming Flower set."

Ozai nods as he breaks his chopsticks, sliding them against each other to make sure there are no splinters. Zuko follows his example and waits for his father to take a bite. It is custom. "That is good practice, Zuko. Keep practicing and you will become the best."

"Yes, father."

The older prince takes a bite of the duck and Zuko grabs some chicken with his own chopsticks. It is delicious, as always. The tea is strong and spicy, the way he likes it. All in all, this is a pleasant lunch for the two of them. Zuko has been waiting for a chance to ask some questions.

"Father?" he asks. He is surprised that his voice does not shake.

Ozai pauses as he reaches out to grab some food. "Yes, Zuko?" he asks rather pleasantly.

"Why does Azula have to go away for school?"

A muscle in his father's left cheek pulls in a strange way. "Your sister is a disgrace, Zuko. And she is a liar. Liars must be punished."

"Azula doesn't lie… does she?" Zuko doubts.

Ozai looks serious and nods. "Yes, Zuko. She is a liar. Azula always lies." Something dark crosses his face and his eyes are haunted in an unfamiliar way. "Your mother, too. She is a liar."

"Mother doesn't lie!" Zuko proclaims.

His father's golden eye's meet his and they are serious and there is honesty in them. "Have I ever lied to you, Zuko?"

"No…" the boy hesitantly answers.

"Then why would I lie to you now?"

Zuko watches as his father begins to eat again. His chopsticks lie on the table, next to his cup of tea that is growing cold as every moment passes. His face is slack and his eyes have a strange look in them. Ozai glances up and hides a small smile. He is pleased.

"Azula always lies," Zuko says quietly, almost questioning. "Mother… always lies?"

Zuko is confused, but he loves and respects his father and believes him with minimal questioning because he doesn't lie. Father never lies. And Zuko has to believe him because he's his father and he loves him and Zuko wants to be just like him when he grows up.

"Mother always lies. Azula always lies."

* * *

6.

Lu Ten is not stupid, nor is he ignorant. He is intelligent, cunning, and perceptive enough to notice that something is going on within the army that should not be going on – there seems to be a leak of information. As far as he has been able to find out since the last informant was captured, the source of information was not in the army but had access to restricted material. That narrowed down the options nicely.

But the implications of narrowing down who it could be were not good; the information that had been given had only been planned skirmishes and battles, things that had been planned back in the Fire Nation or sent back in letters. That meant it is someone on the inside – someone in the palace. Someone he knows and trusts is feeding information to the Earth Kingdom army, and even possibly the rebels. And he doesn't even know how – or more importantly, _why?_

The war is right. The war is true. He had heard the mantras a million times when he had been younger, and still hears them from time to time.

He knows they aren't true. Not for him, at least. Not anymore.

That doesn't mean that he can allow his soldiers to get killed. He is a Commander and he is going to protect them, no matter the cost. Which is how he ended up in a dilapidated bar in the middle of a small town not too far from Ba Sing Se, a few miles to the west from the outer wall.

The air is murky and full of smoke and his ears are full of useless chatter and laughter, but he keeps his eyes firmly locked on his target, a messenger from the camp that he had followed here in the hopes of catching some information. Lu Ten hasn't seen anything suspicious yet, but –

Two men walk in the front door, and to the prince they look like mercenaries. The way their bodies move, coupled with their casual perusal of the room, gives them away to anyone who cares to look. Nonchalantly, the prince makes his way up to the bar, next to his mark, careful to pull down the brim of his hat. As he had expected, the two men sit right next to him.

"We have information for you, Shang," says the man with a scar over his left eye. Inconspicuously, paper changes hands and the messenger is out of the door in a moment, but Lu Ten remains in his seat, carefully listening to the conversation next to him.

One of the men orders a drink, and the other one begins to talk. "Does anyone know why they do it?"

"Who?"

"Well, the Phoenix. Does anyone know why they give us information? What motive do they have?"

The older man, the one with the hideous scar, leans back and tales a gulp of his drink. "What motive do any of us have?" he asks quietly.

That is enough for Lu Ten. He knows now. The prince slips out of the stool and through the door.

He is walking down an alleyway when their voices reach them.

"Hello, my prince," the younger man mocks. In the darkness, his features are obscured and he looks somewhat like a younger rendition of his father. "Fancy seeing you here."

Lu Ten backs up slowly, reaching for the twin blades he has on his back, but the older man speaks. "I wouldn't do that if I was you, sonny. What, you think we didn't notice you back there in the bar? An amateur mistake."

They advance on him and he backs up quickly, but he feels a sudden pressure on his head and he can hear laughing and there is pain and then –

blackness –

and nothing.

…

"General?" a timid voice asks at the door. Iroh looks up tiredly; his face is lined with wrinkles where the skin had been smooth only several days ago, and there is white showing in the roots of his hair. "General, they have found Prince Lu Ten, in a village not far from here, in the local hospital - "

Iroh does not hear the rest of the words. He is already out of the door on the way to the infirmary, where he is sure that his son rests now. He sweeps into the tent, searching for his son's body. The prince catches the eye of one of the healers, who titters before pointing shakily in the direction of a bed to his right.

He makes his way over, slower now. His son, his precious Lu Ten, is lying on the bed helplessly. His eyes are closed and his face is beaten black and blue and all the horrible, dark colors between. There are bandages on his neck, arms, and chest, from what he can see. If there is more, he does not want to see.

"What happened to you, my son?" he whispers.

A feminine voice answers him from behind. "He was attacked by some mercenaries. Some villagers saw it, but they couldn't do anything. No one knew who he was until one of us stopped in the other day for a routine supply check, and there he was."

"How is he? Will he be…" his voice trails off uncomfortably.

The healer turns away, not wanting to watch. "He has been seriously hurt, and he is bleeding internally. We can do nothing about it; it is too late. It is only…" here, she falters, "a matter of time."

The entire body of the Dragon of the West slumps into a chair, and he covers his face with his hands. "Oh, Lu Ten…"

"Father?" a voice croaks, but it is undeniably him, and for a moment Iroh is filled with warming and radiant and overflowing hope – but he can't have hope. There isn't any. "Father?" he asks again, and Iroh leans forward.

"Yes, my son?" he asks back in a soft tone.

Lu Ten's eyes blearily open; they are bloodshot and unfocused but they are still golden and determined. "I'm sorry father, I have failed you…"

"No, Lu Ten. You have never failed me." The nurse stifles a sob with her hand.

"But, father," he continues on as if he hasn't heard, "I know who it is… I know who is leaking the battle plans…" he coughs weakly and stops talking for a minute. The General's eyes are intensely focused on his son.

"What do you mean, Lu Ten? You know who the mole is?"

He coughs again. "Yes," he says feebly, "it is… the Phoenix."

With that, he begins coughing uncontrollably. His body shakes with the pressure and the healer behind him hurries up to push down on his body, trying to halt the wild and out of control movement of his limbs – she looks around for help and suddenly all the healers are coming over, and Iroh can hear their voices but it means nothing to him. It all means nothing to him without Lu Ten.

The seizure only lasts for a few minutes, and then his body is deathly still. Several of the healers back away, looking upset and nervous and possibly afraid. The one healer remains next to him, and he feels detachment as she looks at him and asks if he will be okay. Her brows furrow and she shakes his shoulder until he looks at her.

"He isn't gone, you know, not truly. He's always here," she says softly, and presses her hand to his heart. But it means nothing – nothing, nothing, nothing.

His son is dead.

It isn't until days and days later, when he goes to visit the nurse and thank her, that he has the time to think upon Lu Ten's last words. "What do you suppose he meant, General? The Phoenix?"

Iroh looks at her blankly. "I do not know."

* * *

7.

Ursa pours the tea carefully into two fragile, porcelain cups. It is ginger tea, for the cold weather, and to protect against ailments. She picks up one cup and hands it to the older woman sitting across from her, whose wrinkled hands take it, and she proceeds to take a delicate sip.

"Ah," she sighs warmly. "You were always so good at the tea ceremony, Lady Ursa. I will never forget that, though I may forget everything else."

"You are not so forgetful yet," says Ursa to the older woman. Although the years have added lines to her face, the woman across from her is still the vain woman that had invited her into her home when she had been but a child. Her eyes are still the same perceptive gold, giving away the secret. She is not as senile as she would appear.

Qiao, the mother of the man that loved her, smiles. "The years have been kind to you as well, Lady. You still have the beauty the beauty of your youth." She sighs. "I can still remember when you were but a child, in my kitchen with my son and the cook, making pastries for the festival."

"We were so young," Ursa echoes, setting down her tea cup with slightly shaking fingers.

"Yes," Qiao agrees. "So young, and so innocent. But that innocence is stolen from us, is it not?" she asks, and the younger woman does not answer.

They sit in companionable silence; it is cooler outside than it has been in months, and the air is nowhere near as muggy as it had been even three days ago. It is crisp and brisk, the beginning of autumn, and it is welcome in the Fire Nation. There are some clouds in the blue, blue sky, but there are simple wisps of white, not thunderclouds heavy with rain. The cool air slips easily into her lungs as she breathes.

Ursa smiles reminiscently. "I miss the days when we were so carefree, so oblivious to the world."

"The world is harsh and cruel," Qiao concedes. "And for children that can be a crude awakening."

She frowns lightly. "Yes," she says, and the word tastes bitter in her mouth, like the tea.

Zhao's mother grins as she sets down her cup. "When you were younger, the both of you, I used to dream that you two would marry and settle down. You would live with us, of course, and we would visit your family and there would be an entire house full of children and laughter. But I never expected," she says abruptly, and her tone changes, "that you would have the honor of catching a prince's attention."

"Quite an unexpected honor," Ursa concurs.

"But it was a nice dream, and sometimes I wish Zhao could at least marry and give me some grandchildren." She says dreamily, eyes in a distant land. "At least he brought your child around once or twice when he was in the capital - the Princess Azula. She is a charming girl."

The lines around the Lady's mouth tighten, but Qiao does not notice. There is a dark look in her eyes and her brows furrow slightly. Her hand clenches once, twice – and she lets it go. "Yes, my daughter is very precocious."

"Such a smart and bright girl, so much potential in her… it's really too bad about her father's disfavor…" her voice trails off and Ursa knows she is losing Qiao, that the herbs and medication are wearing off and it is time for another dose.

She is saved from this unpleasantness by a voice calling out the other woman's name. "Qiao?" an older man's voice beckons, and her husband comes over to take her hand and pull her up. "Lady Ursa," he says, bowing, "excuse us, but my wife must come inside now."

"Of course," she murmurs. "Good afternoon, Lady Qiao." The other woman smiles distantly and leaves with her husband.

Ursa is left alone. Time passes indeterminably. A breeze ruffles her hair, and she stares into the teacup on the table. She knows it is cold by now.

"I used to dream, Qiao." She sighs. "But I don't know how to anymore."

* * *

8.

It is the middle of autumn when Prince Ozai boards the Red Dragon. It is a relatively cool day and there are few clouds in the sky; the ship is in port for one week to stock up before they depart yet again for the south. The capital is as it always was: bustling and busy and beautiful in a macabre sort of way. The people are quiet but vengeful and full of pride – pride for a land that does nothing but kill.

Zhao has no particular affinity for war. But it makes him forget.

Prince Ozai steps onto the ship, walking up the gangplank with his usual self-satisfied strut. It is a familiar sight and one that Zhao greatly dislikes, but it is a great honor that the prince has deigned to visit him. A great honor.

"Captain Zhao," the other man greets, a deceptive and wide smile on his face. "It has been months since I have seen you in the capital."

"Raids on the Southern Water Tribe," Zhao answers indirectly. "We are simply stocking with ammunition and food before heading back south. We won't be here but a week or so."

Ozai raises one brow. "Is that so? Well, I have a proposition for you." His smile morphs into a smirk. "Is there somewhere we could speak privately, Captain?" he asks, and Zhao nods stiffly.

He leads him toward the meeting and planning room, where maps of the different nations are hanging from the walls with strategic pins stuck in them. Two men are sitting at the table, talking. Zhao jerks his head for them to leave, and they scatter quickly. He pulls out a chair for Ozai before sitting at the other end of the table.

"You have a proposition," he states.

"Yes," Ozai answers, viewing the maps with speculative interest. "You are a smart and capable man, Zhao. I am surprised you are still only a captain."

Zhao grins crookedly, a sour expression. "I have no personal ambition; I live to serve the Fire Nation."

The prince laughs, a bit of cruel mixed in with disbelief. "You don't actually believe that mindless drivel, do you?" His face turns more serious in a matter of seconds, appraising the man across from him. Zhao works to keep his expression straight. "I don't expect you do," Ozai says slowly. He leans back in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "I do have a proposition for you, Zhao. One that would make you a powerful man."

"Oh?"

Ozai smirks again. "I can make you a Commander, Zhao. I could even make you an Admiral. I have that authority."

Zhao says nothing.

"I would only ask one thing of you." Here he pauses, his eyes looking directly into the captain's golden ones. "I would ask that you be loyal to me, and to only me. I would ask that you follow my orders. I will take care of the navy's orders."

"Are you building a private army, Prince Ozai?" Zhao asks bitterly.

"Something like that. It's better to be prepared for eventualities, don't you think?" There is a ruthlessness is his eyes. "That, and it gives me some twisted satisfaction to see you at my beck and call." His smile is dark.

Zhao looks away; "You have always liked to dominate others with your bribes and mind games, haven't you?"

"Does this mean you will take me up on my offer, Zhao?"

His twiddles his fingers absently as his mind works. "I would add one condition, my Lord."

"And what would that be?" Ozai asks, brows raised and tips of the his mouth curled in amusement.

"I would ask that you leave her alone."

Ozai laughs again – this time, it is dark and dangerous with a hint of insanity. His eyes close with the force of his amusement, his head falls back, and the ugly sound echoes and bounces off the iron walls of the ship. "Ursa? If you wanted me to leave her alone, you should have asked a long time ago, my friend. That ship sailed many years ago."

Zhao snorts. "Not Ursa. She chose her own fate." He leans forward and rests his arms on the table. "Azula. I ask that you would leave her alone."

"She is already left largely alone by my family. She is a disgrace." _She is a firstborn, _Zhao thinks ironically, _and you have always disliked those with the advantage_.

"That is my condition. Take it or leave it."

Ozai takes it, and Zhao is christened Commander Zhao. He leaves the ship shortly after, walking with his prideful strut. The sailors watch him leave nervously, eyeing their captain. He is not smiling.

"Captain?" one asks anxiously.

Zhao turns around, facing the endless ocean. "Make that Commander. Commander Zhao."

The men share a look at his emotionless tone, but bow and congratulate him anyways. His second-in-command, the man who has served under him for many years, waits until the other men have gone back to their duties before stepping up behind Zhao.

"Are you alright, Commander?" he asks quietly.

"Yes," Zhao says. His eyes are fixed in the distance. "Why wouldn't I be?"

* * *

9.

Her little brows are furrowed over her gold eyes in concentration. Her hand is held out in front of her, empty and grasping at nothing. The little princess twists her wrist and pushes her hand forward, but nothing happens. She frowns even more deeply and closes her eyes in frustration. _Why isn't it working? _she wonders. _Why can't I firebend?_

The book she had taken from the library weeks ago lies on the ground in front of her. She is sitting cross-legged on the floor of her room, the light streaming in from the window behind her. It highlights her face and makes it look like it is glowing – luminescent. But no one is there to see it.

She sighs sadly and reigns her emotions back in; the book says that one must have control of their emotions to be a truly great firebender. Emotions make you strong but can weaken you. Fire is the breath. Closing her eyes, Azula breathes in and out softly and pushes her hand forward again.

The girl cracks an eye open. Nothing.

Frustrated, she lets out a large breath of air and shakes her hands. Something catches her eye and she quickly looks back down. She shakes them again and squints her eyes.

Is that… a spark?

Excitedly she pushes out her hand again, and a blue spark flies off the end of her fingers, barely missing the pages of the book. It dies quickly, but for a moment it was _alive_. It takes five more tries to make the spark grow into multiple sparks, and eighteen more times to make a small flame.

The flame is blue. It is the blue of frozen lakes in the winter, with a tint of cerulean in the middle. This is puzzling – what is so wrong with her that she can't even firebend correctly?

Even so, she practices the rest of the afternoon.

The next day, after her morning classes, she visits the firebending instructor. She does not have lessons with her; she was not a firebender until now. Instead, she has a free hour in the afternoon. She makes her way over to the training courts during this hour, only to find them empty. The firebending teacher is in her office near the courts, reading a scroll.

Azula walks nervously into the room. "Mistress Yang?"

"Yes, Azula?" There are no formalities at the school for rich children. They are all treated the same. Especially princesses who everyone knows their parents don't like them.

"Yesterday, I learned how to firebend." Azula's voice is small but it seems so loud to her.

Mistress Yang lowers the scroll from her face and raises an eyebrow – _so what? _it seems to taunt her. Azula scuffles her shoe awkwardly on the wooden floor. "Well, something is… wrong."

The older firebender observes the silent girl for a moment – her head is bowed, her hands clasped behind her back – before putting the scroll down on the desk. "Show me," she commands and gets up to walk out to the training courts. Azula obediently follows.

Sweat runs down her face although it is cool outside, and she positions her hand forward. Carefully, she twists her wrist and pushes into the emptiness of the air. A blast of blue fire comes out. She looks away in shame. "See?" she asks miserably. "It's blue, not red. Everyone else's fire is red."

There is no response for several minutes and finally the girl gathers the courage to look over at the instructor. Unexpectedly, she is observing Azula with something akin to quieted, muted shock. "Mistress Yang?" she asks quietly.

The woman moves her head from side to side, as if shaking herself out of a stupor. "It has been many years," she says in a low voice, "since I have seen someone with blue fire. And that person was much older than you are now."

"What does it mean?" Azula asks anxiously. "Is it bad?"

Mistress Yang smiles. It transforms her entire face. "No, dear child. Blue child is the result of both talent in firebending and extreme control. It is very rare, and at times thought to be the mark of a prodigy."

"Oh."

The older firebender laughs. "Yes. Well, I expect to see you here tomorrow for your lessons, Azula. Good afternoon."

Azula watches her leave, shell-shocked. "Me?" she asks out loud. "A prodigy?" She thinks it over for a moment before smiling.

_No, _she thinks, _not me. Never me. _

* * *

10.

It is nearly winter and Azula is a firebender. She is, at last, a real firebender, with a teacher and lessons and everything. She wrote to Zhao and Uncle Iroh and Zuzu and told them all about it, but no one has written her back yet. But that's okay, because she can firebend and it's wonderful and it's the most amazing feeling ever.

She likes it best when Mistress Yang lets her practice after lessons, when there are few girls on the courts and before the dinner bell rings. Azula can form the fire in her hand, and although it is blue it warms her. It glows in her hand like the stars at night, and she feels more powerful than she has ever been.

No one else can firebend like her.

Even though she's the newest girl in the class, she's the best. She learns the stances and moves the easiest, and she has the best control and understanding of firebending. The other girls might be able to form fire, but they do not understand fire. Fire comes from the breath. You must extend the breath. Azula understands. She's finally good at something, really good, and nothing can ruin it for her.

She smiles as a cold breeze makes her shudder lightly. Gently, she raises her inner body temperature to keep warm and settles into a more advanced firebending stance. Azula brings in her muscles and tightens her core –

The sound of giggling from several yards behind her throws off her concentration. Curiously, she turns around, only to see a handful of girls several years older than her. A girl named Jin, one with black hair and slanted gold eyes, is in the front and she covers her mouth with her hand as she laughs at the princess.

"What's so funny?" Azula asks, tilting her head to the side. This only serves to make them laugh harder.

Jin lowers her hand and the smile that it reveals is malicious. "It's funny that you're trying so hard, _princess," _she makes the title an insult. "Everyone knows that it won't make a difference."

Azula's brows lower slightly. "What do you mean?" she asks innocently. Several of the girls snort in amusement.

"I don't think," the nasty girl continues, "that firebending can make your daddy love you."

Azula does not understand. "But my daddy already loves me. What are talking about?" Her fists clench at her sides. _He does love me, _she thinks. _He has to. _

"Oh, Azula," one of the other girls croons. "You don't have to hide it from us; everyone knows. Our parents talk about it all the time. It's really too bad you were born first – everyone _knows _that your father hates firstborns. He thinks they have an unfair advantage."

Azula's bottom lip juts out. "I don't know what you're talking about. There's nothing wrong with me."

"Sure," Jin drawls, and the girls behind her giggle. "if you want to think that way."

"I do." Azula says stubbornly. Jin continues to laugh. It is a cruel and mocking laugh and Azula hates the way it reminds her of her father. With a burst of speed, Azula walks forward, reaches out, and pushes Jin. The girl stumbles back into several of the nondescript girls behind her.

Some of the girls gasp. "You pushed me!" Jin exclaims.

Azula smirks. "Yeah," she says. "So?"

Jin huffs and straightens out, brushing her clothes off. Her face twists into a hideous sneer and she marches toward the princess and pushes her back – hard. Azula staggers back until she regains her balance, but Jin has followed her and she pushes again – again and again and again –

Azula falls –

"Hey, stop that!" a high, cheery-sounding voice calls out.

Everyone turns to look. It is a girl with brown hair in a braided ponytail. Her face is slightly angry and she is wearing bright pink. "That isn't very nice," she says when she is within hearing distance. "Stop it."

Jin giggles but backs away from Azula. The girl the princess doesn't know comes over and stretches out a hand. It takes a moment for Azula to realize that she is offering her help. Hesitantly, she takes the hand and uses it to pull herself up. As soon as she does, the other girl turns on the bullies. "What is wrong with you? Stop bullying people!"

"Oh, and what are you going to do about it, Ty Lee? Cartwheel?" They break out in silly giggles again and Azula _hates _that inane sound.

Ty Lee cocks her hip to the side and smiles slyly. "My daddy is a general and my mommy is the cousin of Fire Lady Ilah. Your parents are just rich merchants, aren't they Jin?"

Jin quiets and nods. "Yes, Ty Lee."

"Well, then," a uninterested voice drones from next to them. Azula turns to look. It is a girl with black hair in pigtails that doesn't match her bored face. "That's settled, isn't it?"

Jin looks between the two girls, gold eyes flashing with something between anger and fear. Her cronies behind her are quiet and they back away from her. They break away from her, turn, and walk back to the main building. Jin looks nervous and nods fervently. "Yes, yes," she says. "I'm sorry, Ty Lee, Mai! Leave my parents alone, please!"

"It isn't us you owe an apology to," Ty Lee says.

Jin frowns but looks away. "I'm sorry, Princess," she mutters through her teeth. And then she turns and runs.

The two unknown girls – Ty Lee and Mai? – turn and look at her expectantly. There is a satisfied look on the girl in pink's face and the other girl's face is emotionless. Azula remembers seeing them around the school, but she has never talked to them before.

"Um," Azula says awkwardly. "Thanks." Her cheeks are a light pink and she is blushing in embarrassment.

Ty Lee smiles. "No problem," she answers. "I'm Ty Lee, and this is Mai."

"I'm Azula."

"We know."

Ty Lee's eyes are brown with a tint of grey in the middle, around the pupil, and there is something honest and bright about her. Mai has gold eyes that are slanted more prominently than hers and her hair is black. It is up in pigtails and it makes her look cute, even though her face reveals her personality. "Why did you help me?" Azula wants to know. "No one else would have."

Mai stays quiet and Ty Lee appears to think for a moment. "Well, I like your aura," she begins. "And you reminded me of us."

"You two? Why?"

Ty Lee shrugs and Mai snorts. "No one really likes us either."

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's okay," Mai says.

Ty Lee smiles and clasps her hands together. "But we can be friends now, right? The three of us?"

Azula frowns contemplatively. "I don't know. I've never had friends like you before. I've never had many friends at all, really."

Mai's eyes close and she absently twirls a knife on her finger. "My father says it's better to die trying than not to try at all."

A long moment of silence reigns. They all stare at the sky: blue with orange at the edges where the sun is beginning to set, and there are alligator-pelicans flying above them, heading towards the rainforest not far from the school. It is a pretty sight and even though it is chilly outside none of them feel it.

"I guess we could try," Azula eventually says.

"Great!" Ty Lee beams and Mai attempts a small, contented smile. Surprisingly, it doesn't look too out of place.

Tentatively, Azula smiles back.


	6. it takes only a few seconds to die

**Title:** ab igne ignem capere  
**Chapter Title: **it takes only a few seconds to die  
**Author:** honestly_sangi / Sangi  
**Prompt:** 31_days ; june 29th: it takes only a few seconds to die  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own A:TLA or anything contained within or related to it.  
**Word Count: **8838  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters: **Ty Lee and her family, Mai, Azula, Iroh, Zuko, Ursa  
**Author's Notes:** This is my idea of an alternate universe in which Azula was born first, is generally unloved, and turns out to be a kind-of hero.

Interlude on Ty Lee. There is a bit of a different tone and style in this chapter because it's Ty Lee's point of view.

Writing this was interesting, primarily because when I started writing Avatar, which was quite a long time ago now, Ty Lee was truly my favorite character. It made me excited to write her again, albeit from a different perspective, and I feel like I can portray her much more thoroughly now.

Ab igne ignem capere -  
To light a fire with fire  
- Cicero

_You spend half of your life trying to fall behind  
__It was so easy, the words so sweet  
_- Regina Spektor, Eet

* * *

0.

Ty Lee is the youngest of seven girls.

They are all exactly alike and she wants to be different.

* * *

1.

When Ty Lee is born, her parents despair.

"Another girl?" They groan. "Couldn't we at least have one boy?" But it was not destined to be, and they have another little girl with brown hair and big brown eyes and a smile that never leaves her face.

Her parents are high-born nobles but they are rather eccentric. They were drawn to each other by some kind of aural magnets, or maybe because they are the only two people so different from everyone else.

Her father has a large moustache on his face that bristles when he talks. It fascinates Ty Lee when she is a child, and she often reaches out to touch it – but she can never reach it. He is a general and he acts stoic when they have people over for dinner, but when they don't he is a jolly man that smiles and laughs; he is a general and will do anything necessary – the ends justify the means. He is a general and can be mean.

Her mother is gentle and kind (most of the time; but she can be hard and cruel) and she likes to paint stories from the Water Tribe legends. Truthfully, that's enough to make her strange. But she's also a great-niece of Fire Lady Ilah and evaluates everything for the possible social value - including her daughters.

Their mother begins to arrange their marriages as soon as they are born. "It doesn't really matter," she says, "what the girls want. They will be happier this way. I only want what is best for them."

But Ty Lee comes to hate it when her parents call her the wrong name.

She can't blame them, she guesses, because they all look like and act alike. Each one is born only a year or so after the last one, so their ages aren't very spaced out.

Ty Lee is two when they first mistake her for her older sister.

The air is hot and sticky and she is outside with Sissy Baozhai, the second oldest. Ty Lee is endearingly chewing on a piece of grass as she stares aimlessly up at the sky. Next to her, Baozhai is telling her a story that she learned in her lessons today. Ty Lee is too young to really understand, so she gurgles and smiles when the time is appropriate. The sky is blue and filled with dark, formidable clouds and it quite looks like it's going to rain.

Ty Lee loves the rain.

"So you see," Baozhai is saying, "we all originally learned the art of firebending from the dragons. And not everyone can firebend, you know. I can't and neither can any of us. But the Royal Family can all bend. And there aren't any dragons anymore because Prince Iroh slayed them all."

"Mingzhu!" a voice calls out from behind them. Baozhai stops in her story and turns to look; it is their mother, dressed comfortably in home clothing and with a frenzied look on her face. "Oh, Mingzhu, where have you gone?" Her eyes land on Ty Lee and they light up.

Her small feet scurry over to where her two daughters are sitting. "Mingzhu! How did you wander off so quickly? I only looked away for a second…" She picks up Ty Lee and hugs her to her chest, stroking her hair.

Baozhai smiles a little, but shakes her head sadly. "Mother," she says formally.

The woman looks up, startled, and says, "Oh, hello… daughter. Did you need something?"

"Mother," Baozhai explains, "that is Ty Lee, not Mingzhu." Her eyes are a muddy brown, like all the other sisters, but they hold a sort of intelligence that makes their mother look back down at the girl in her arms. Oh. It is Ty Lee.

She sighs and sets the girl back down again. "I'm sorry, Ty Lee. You girls just all look so alike," she mutters, frustrated, and walks back to the house.

Oblivious to previous events, young Ty Lee shrugs and leans back against the grass. Baozhai frowns. She might not understand now, but she will one day. And it will be cruel, like it was for all of them, but there really isn't anything they can do. They are all the same and that is the way it is.

When Ty Lee gets older, she will be so different that they will never again mistake her for one of her sisters. But she doesn't know that yet.

Ty Lee sucks on her thumb and yawns egregiously.

Baozhai grins crookedly and begins another story. "Last week mother told me a story about the Avatar Kuruk and the woman he loved… and Koh the face stealer…"

* * *

2.

Dinner at Ty Lee's house is always fun. There are nine of them at the table, at the very least. All seven daughters and their parents. Sometimes they have guests over for dinner, and that's even more fun. Usually. Sometimes it isn't, when the guests are boring old men or yawning and unimpressed cousins.

Their parents spend a lot of time at the palace eating dinner during the summer and winter, so when all of them eat together it is something of an event. Cook makes those delicious raspberry pastries and there are fire flakes – oh, Ty Lee loves fire flakes – and roast duck and chicken and sausage and it's a lot more fun than when the sisters have to eat by themselves.

Ty Lee looks around at the smiling and giggling faces around her. Sometimes it is even difficult for her to tell her sisters apart as they grow older and more and more similar. Her oldest sister is twelve now and she is growing more mature with every day. This will be her last year at the academy; her and most of her other sisters go to the Academy and this year Mingzhu will leave and Ty Lee will be left all alone.

Well, her parents will be here but they don't really count.

Ty Lee's mother and father sit at the head of table, next to each other. Ty Lee watches as they share a look – a quick, covert glance – and make a decision.

"Attention," her father says. Most of his daughters turn to look at him. Ty Lee rests her head on her hand, elbow bent and resting on the table. "Attention," he says a bit louder.

The wood muffles the youthful sound of giggling. It doesn't echo; it dies swiftly.

Everyone's aura is red and pink and bright; each one is tinged with grey at the edges.

"We wanted to talk," her mother says. Her voice is sweet and low and indescribably beautiful. There is something about her that makes her so hard to dislike, even when there's so little to like. "Now that you are old enough," she smiles evenly, "we wanted to have a discussion about your futures."

Ty Lee doesn't really understand what there is to talk about. She is under the impression that everything is already decided.

"What brought this on," her father continues, and the words are too practiced, too smooth. It is all an act, Ty Lee decides, just like the actors on the stage at festivals. All an act. "Is that Huian's marriage to the second son of General Hu has been set for three years from now."

Everyone turns to look at Huian. She blinks her eyes twice before nodding. Everything is already decided.

Like a pendulum, all of their heads swing back to look at their parents. They are wary and a bit afraid, but this is the way things are.

Her mother and father share a smile. Acceptance was the expected outcome and their shoulders droop as their bodies relax. "The rest of you are all aware that your marriages are arranged and within the next few years will be set."

Her father's moustache bristles slightly. "Do you all understand?"

"Yes, father," they all chorus. All seven daughters except Ty Lee. Her brown eyes watch her parents and they look almost grey in the light of the room. Her mother raises her brows expectantly.

"Ty Lee?" she asks after a few silent moments. "Do you have something you want to say?"

The young girl shifts uncomfortably in her chair. She pulls her elbow off the table and sits up straighter. "Yes," she says determinedly. "I don't want to get married."

"Not right now," her mother says patronizingly. All of her sisters are looking at her, somewhat alarmed, but they turn away. They don't want to be involved in this. "But you will want to be married when you get older. You will understand when you're older."

Everyone always tells her that. They always tell her that she is too young and that she doesn't understand. But she does. "I don't want to get married," she says stubbornly.

Her father snorts. "What would you do, then? What else can a noble woman do?"

"I want…" she begins, searching. "Oh, I want to be an acrobat!" and suddenly her face is lit with excitement and happiness and wonder. "Like the ones at the circus!"

"You want… to join the circus?" her mother asks. Her mouth is hanging open and her eyes have widened with horror.

Ty Lee smiles. "Exactly."

She wants to be different.

* * *

3.

Ty Lee's parents are indulgent. They don't cancel the marriage arrangements, but they do get her a tutor so that she can learn acrobatics. She is the only daughter left at home and she spends most of her days with her tutor.

"Maybe," her father says, "she will change her mind."

"Perhaps," her mother echoes.

It is autumn and there is a slight chill in the air, but Ty Lee barely notices as she perfectly executes a cartwheel. Her outfit is bright and pink and very dissimilar to the muted greens and blues worn by her sisters, but she likes it and every morning when she puts on her clothes she smiles brightly. She loves her tutor, Mistress Ami, who appears every morning at nine and teaches her to be an acrobat. Mistress Ami doesn't frown very much, and Ty Lee likes that too.

She straightens as her feet land on the ground, at exact lengths from each other. "How was that?" she asks breathlessly.

Mistress Ami smiles gently. "Very good, Ty Lee. Now that you have mastered this, we will move on."

"Oh!" Ty Lee exclaims, bouncing on her heels. "What next? What will you teach me next, Mistress Ami?"

Her tutor cocks her head to the side and appears to consider for a moment, but there is a humorous glint in her eye and Ty Lee is so excited she can barely contain it. "I think," the woman says ponderously, "that we will begin on back flips today."

"Oh, really?" Ty Lee wonders. "Wow! This is going to be so much fun!"

Her eyes are wide and excited and she smiles widely, so widely that she feels as if her face might split with the force. Mistress Ami is kind and she laughs softly.

Their reverie is interrupted. "Ty Lee!" a voice yells from the house behind them. Curiously, Ty Lee turns and looks. It is her mother, waving a piece of paper in her hands. "You got a letter from Baozhai!"

Beseechingly, her eyes turn to Mistress Ami. The woman nods and Ty Lee is running, running off to her mother. She grabs the letter out of her hands and rushes off to her room. "Thank you!" she yells behind her. As soon as her door closes behind her, she greedily tears open the letter.

It is short and, at first, she is disappointed. But then she reads it.

_Ty Lee,_

_We are all going to come home next week. I know that Mother and Father haven't told you, but General Hu has moved up the wedding because his son is leaving next month for the Earth Kingdom. Huian will be married in a week._

_I'm sorry._

_Sissy Baozhai_

Her fingers tremble. _Married? _What does that even mean? The letter drops out of her hands and floats to the floor. She is only five and Huian isn't even thirteen and she's going to get married to a man she's never met?

This really isn't fair, Ty Lee decides. It isn't fair at all.

When her mother comes to find her, hours later, she is sitting on her bed staring out of the window. "Is it true?" she whispers.

"Is what true, Ty Lee?" her mother asks peacefully, but she knows. Ty Lee is sure that she knows.

"Is it true," her voice shakes, "that Huian is getting married next week?"

"Oh," her mother says, as if it was nothing, as if the fate of her daughter is nothing but idle conversation. "Yes. All of your sisters will be attending the wedding. You will also."

"Why?" Ty Lee asks.

Her mother purposely misunderstands. "Would you really miss your sister's wedding?" She asks archly and leaves.

Freedom is fleeting.

One week later, Ty Lee sits in formal red robes and watches as Huian closes her eyes. "I'm sorry," she says.

Huian smiles at her tremulously. "Yeah," she agrees. "Me too."

* * *

4.

Sometimes Ty Lee's parents take her to the palace, on days when she doesn't have lessons. The winter is nice and she could always practice her flips and aura reading but her parents don't really trust her to leave the house intact. They dress her up and braid her hair and she's stuck in a room in the castle with other nobles' children – children who wipe their runny noses on their sleeves and incessantly cry.

So she sneaks out when the servants aren't watching and wanders the palace. Her brown eyes glance furtively from side to side when she slips through the doorway, but no one is looking.

It really is a beautiful palace, she muses, running her hands along the edges of an intricate tapestry with intertwining dragons.

Quietly she slides open the ornate doors to another room, one filled with small trees – what do you call them? She can't remember – and blue and green vases. In the background Ty Lee can hear the babbling of soft water and she supposes that somewhere in the room is a small waterfall. She smiles at that. She likes the tinkling, chime-like sound. It's rather calming.

"Hello, young one," says a kind voice from behind her. She freezes and finally turns when the voice says nothing else.

Gold eyes meet wide brown eyes. It is a man, one a little older than her father's age. His hair is brown with some gray sprinkled at the roots and his eyes are kind. And there is a smile lingering on his face and he has a beard, but no moustache. His robes are silk and they look awful expensive.

Ty Lee bows, hands pressed together. She does not rise immediately. "I am sorry, my Lord," she says quietly, preserving the peace.

A soft chuckle echoes dully in the room. "No, no – it is fine. Come join me." He is sitting at a low table with a teapot and several teacups, one with curling smoke rising from it, in front of him. Ty Lee sniffs delicately. It doesn't smell bad. It actually smells rather good.

Gracefully, she unbends from her bow and beams. "Sure," she says brightly and skips over to the table, folding her legs underneath each other. "What kind of tea is it?" she asks curiously as her pours her a cup.

"Oh, just the regular Fire Nation spice tea."

"Mmm," Ty Lee murmurs as she takes a sip. "This is good."

The older man smiles. "Yes," he says, "I agree."

The acrobat smiles in return and sets her cup down on the table. "I didn't introduce myself, did I?" she asks. Ty Lee leans forward a bit. "I'm Ty Lee."

"It is very nice to meet you, Ty Lee. I am Iroh." He eyes her for a moment. "You look familiar. May I ask if you are one of the seven sisters?"

Ty Lee leans back and her smile fades. She droops a bit, head bowing slightly. "The youngest," she concedes in a muted tone.

"Hmm," he replies, "the youngest? I think I've heard of you," he continues - and Ty Lee perks up a bit at that. "Were you the one that cart wheeled on the Sato's dining table?"

Something pulls at the side of her mouth in the soft beginnings of a smile. "Maybe," she admits. He laughs heartily. Her eyes move to his. "Who are you?

"My name is Iroh."

"It's nice to meet you, Iroh," she says in return. "Tell me about you," she demands, shifting so that her hands are pressing against the table in eagerness. Ty Lee's eyes shine with something like happiness and maybe even glee.

The Dragon of the West regards her for a moment before taking a slow sip of his tea. "Why don't you start," he suggests with a twinkle in his eye, "and then I'll tell you about me."

Her eyes grow distant before refocusing on his face. "My name is Ty Lee and I have six sisters and we're all the same – but that's okay," she reassures, "and I like reading auras and I want to be an acrobat and join the circus."

"You want to join the circus?" And he isn't horrified, but amused and possibly intrigued at the prospect. There is a welcoming smile on Iroh's face and Ty Lee answers excitedly.

"Uh-huh," she confirms. "And I'm going to be the best acrobat ever. I bet you'll even hear about me."

The smile lingers on his face. "I'm sure I will."

She shifts eagerly, moving her weight from side to side. "Now tell me about you!" she demands.

The older man leans back in his cushion and sets his cup of tea, now empty, down on the table. The taste of spice remains on his tongue. "My name is Iroh," he says very seriously, "and I have one brother and one son, and I like to play pai-sho and I –" Iroh pauses for a moment. "I want to see my son grow old."

"I think you will," Ty Lee says. "I'm almost always right," she adds, "except for when I'm wrong."

They sit in silence. Their bodies relax and the young girl closes her eyes and simply breathes. The soft noise of water running over stone is omnipresent; it was pleasant at first, Ty Lee thinks, but after a while it grows old. Everything grows old after a while, she notices.

"You know," Iroh says after some time, "some call me the Dragon of the West." His calloused hands re-heat the teapot and steam comes curling in swirls and twists out of the spout.

With those words, Ty Lee's attention is riveted on him again. "Really?" she asks breathlessly.

His answer is a secretive smile.

* * *

5.

The night is dark and dangerous and it shrouds them in secrecy. Stars twinkle softly in the sky and the moon is a beaming beacon of light; rays come through the soft paper of the window and illumine the room from darkness to shadows.

"The situation has come too far," he says. He is lying on the bed, back propped against the carved, wooden headboard. In the obscurity she can see the hardened glint of his eyes.

She stops applying a cream to her face. Her fingers tremble as she wipes them off on a hand towel on her vanity. In the reflection of the mirror she can see her face. A tear cuts a streak through the cream; it falls off of her cheek, onto the table. "We did not know," she whispers. "How were we to know?"

Her husband snorts and crosses his ankles. "How were we to know what? That our daughter is apparently infertile?" His eyes are distant. "I can hardly believe it myself. But General Hu assures that it has been confirmed by no less than three healers."

"I cannot accept it," she says. "It is impossible. Nothing was wrong with her, we had her checked –"

He cuts her off. "But not for this," he reminds her. "She was never checked for fertility. We… assumed."

"We won't do that again," she adds with a crooked, cynical smile. "We have to get all the girls checked."

"No," he says definitively. "We cannot. If word got out that one of our girls is infertile, would anyone want to marry any of our children?"

She frowns. "But they cannot call be infertile! It is not possible!"

The man shakes his head. "Does it matter? They will say it runs in the family, that children of the fertile ones will be infertile. We cannot let word of this escape our household, and General Hu must be appeased."

"How?"

Her husband appears to think for a moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Cancel Mingzhu's and Ty Lee's marriage agreements."

Her face pales even more. "Why them? Why?"

His face is serious. "You know that their contracts have not been formally affirmed. New arrangements may be made; the families involved in their marriages are not as important as General Hu's clan."

She is not happy with this, but it is the way it must be. Although her family is related to the Fire Lady, the connection is not firmly established nor acknowledged. Her husband's position as a General is imperative to the survival of her family and her daughters. And this is the way it must be. Her eyes are a light brown – hazel almost – and she can see them harden in resolve as she watches her reflection in the mirror. "So Mingzhu will marry General Hu's son when she is old enough, and Huian's arrangement will be dissolved. What will become of Huian?"

"She must come live with us again; she certainly can never marry, not in our world. Perhaps she could become a governess for an eccentric noble or merchant family. There is hope for her yet," he assures softly.

"And what of Ty Lee? Why must her engagement end?"

He looks away and she cannot see his eyes. She misses the comfort they gave her. "General Hu believes we have dishonored him, and even with another marriage he will hold a grudge. His power is too great and we cannot risk that he or someone else will have leverage over our family." He takes in a deep breath, letting it slip through his mouth slowly. "Ty Lee must marry well – very well – to give our family more power. She must marry to give us the leverage against him and other families."

The woman closes her eyes. Ty Lee is her youngest. She loves all her daughters, and she wants what is best for them, even if at times she seems cruel. She only wants what is best for her family. "Who must she marry?"

His eyes swing to meet hers. His are a dark gold and they smolder as clouds pass in front of the moon and the room darkens. "You should make an arrangement to meet with the Lady Ilah. It may benefit us if you were to get to know your great-aunt better."

"You don't mean – " her eyes are awed and frightened all at once.

"If," he says, "Ty Lee were to marry a relative of the Royal Family, of Azulon, or a member of his family, it would increase our status exponentially." The side of his mouth quirks and then settles down again. "The youngest prince has no such arrangement – you know they wait until they are older before making plans."

She nods slowly. "That is customary for them."

"If we were to get closer to your relations, it is possible that we may be able to make a marriage that would benefit us and all the families affiliated with ours – including General Hu's. And we would become powerful, much more powerful than now."

"Yes," she whispers brokenly. "We would."

He motions for her to come to the bed. She wipes her hands, now sweaty, and makes her way to her side of the elevated mattress. The woman climbs on clumsily and settles shakily beneath the sheets. Her eyes are wide and they stare at the canopy, red and swirls in the night, but she sees nothing.

"We will make Ty Lee our heiress, rather than Huian," he adds, when her breathing is calmer and more even. "That way marriage to her will mean inheritance of our fortune and good-standing."

His wife does not answer. She turns so that her back is to him. He waits. "What do you think?" he asks when the silence becomes unbearable.

"It is a good idea," she says mechanically.

He smirks a bit. "Yes," he agrees. He closes his eyes; the moon comes through the window again and illuminates his mouth. It lays limp and he is calm – too calm.

Ty Lee's mother cries silently. She loves her daughters, all of them, and she only wants what is best for them. But is this for their well-being… or for her and her husband's benefit? She does not know, and she does not want to know. This is the way it must be.

"She is so young," she sighs. "so young..."

* * *

6.

Ty Lee sits in the practice courts of the palace and watches as a young boy shows off his firebending exercises to several noble boys.

He is good, she muses, but she's seen better.

The tips of the grass are yellow and brown with the decaying remnants of winter; the roots are green and full of life as spring pushes on inexorably. Wisps of clouds are present in the sky but it is a stunning blue and there is little breeze. It is a sunny and bright day.

At this moment it is very likely that her pink, loose pants are being ruined by grass stains. But Ty Lee doesn't really care. She's bored in the palace and there isn't any other entertainment since the old man Iroh left with his son to go to war. Almost every day now she ends up here, watching the boy and his little friends.

He has gold eyes and he is always so angry-looking. When his friends mess up in their routine, he laughs cruelly. They just dust off their pants and let him take over. She imagines that it is easier that way.

When he fails at a back-flip none of his friends say anything, but Ty Lee giggles. She tries to be quiet but the sound carries through air and across stone to reach the young boy's ears. He turns around, irritated, and when he sees her sitting on the ground he stalks toward her. His posse follows.

Ty Lee stands up and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, nonchalant. "Hello," she greets when he is closer.

"Who are you?" he demands. "Who are you to laugh at me?"

"My name is Ty Lee," she says simply. "I'm going to be an acrobat."

His friends laugh loudly but the boy only frowns harder. "An acrobat? You?" He scoffs. "Prove it."

The girl shrugs. "Watch," she instructs and back-flips three times, ending in a perfect split. She slides up from the split into the scorpion position, resting the bottom of her feet on the crown of her head. She pulls one elbow off the ground and waves. "See?" she asks before straightening up. "I'm going to be an acrobat. Do you want me to teach you how to back-flip?" she asks with a smile on her face.

His friends are uncertain now as to his reaction. His face is an angry, dark red and she can practically see steam pouring from his ears. "No!" he exclaims. He steps forward and pushes her onto the ground. She lands hard on her bottom. "I don't need you to teach me anything. I don't need you," he says with a sneer and then stomps away. His friends follow with nervous looks back at her.

Her eyes sting with tears at the pain and indignity. She opens her mouth to tell him off, but he is already halfway to the palace now, laughing loudly. It is a cruel and harsh laugh and Ty Lee doesn't like it. She doesn't like it, not at all.

"Here," a soft and low voice says from behind, and gentle hands scoop her up so she is standing again. A woman emerges to her right, one about her mother's age. There are light lines on her face, but she is still fiercely beautiful. She has gold eyes that stare dully after the unkind little boy.

After a moment her attention returns to Ty Lee and she smiles, although Ty Lee can tell that it is strained. It is the smile her mother has when something has gone horribly wrong but she doesn't want anyone to know. Ty Lee smiles back, though, because this woman seems a lot better than that mean boy.

"I am the Lady Ursa," the woman says. "I apologize for my son's actions. He can be… rash." She inclines her head shallowly and Ty Lee returns the gesture.

Then the acrobat shrugs. "It's okay," she says. "It happens."

A loud thump from far away calls their attention and they both turn their heads to see the boy sparring with his friends in the grass. They watch together as he wins and pushes his friend on the ground.

"Your son isn't very nice," Ty Lee observes.

Ursa sends her a quick glance, but smiles bitterly. She hates the taste of defeat. "I know."

* * *

7.

It is a cool spring day; the flowers are in bloom and the plants are slowly turning green again. The weather is very nice and Ty Lee loves the brisk breezes that ruffle her hair – carefully arranged for an excursion – and everything smells so clean. Scattered clouds hang low in the sky, dark and promising rain. Ty Lee loves the feel of rain on her skin – cool and soft and all liquid and afterwards her maids always make her take a bath but she stands in the rain anyways. She likes the rain.

Thunder cracks threateningly in the air above their heads, and Ty Lee's brown eyes look upwards. She smiles lightly and stumbles as her mother tugs on her hand.

Her mother is giving her a tour of the palace – _it is very important,_ her mother had told her, _that you get to know the palace very well. Everyone worth knowing can be found in the palace. _They have already made their way through the front hall and the dining halls, although they give the throne room a wide berth. As they walked past the door, Ty Lee could hear the crackling of fire; an uncontrollable shudder travelled through her body.

She doesn't tell her mother that she's already seen the majority of the palace on her own.

Now they are wandering through the many gardens and courtyards dotted throughout and around the palace – her mother tells her that many of the nobles and even members of the Royal Family spend their extra time relaxing in the gardens.

Even though she is wearing raised sandals, Ty Lee can feel the grass brush against her feet. The grass is clammy and waxy with the latent water in the air and it makes her feet itch. Her nose involuntarily scrunches. "Mother, where are we going?" she asks.

Her mother doesn't turn around as she answers. "We are going to one of the covered sitting areas, Ty Lee. We will wait out the rain – for a while, at least."

The little girl's shoulders shrug and so she follows her mother to an area paved with uneven stones, covered by a low roof. There are several weather-worn cushions, clean and serviceable, and they settle into two of them. The cushions are black, dusted with grey from the ground, with embroidering in gold.

"Oh," her mother says in a low, disappointed tone and Ty Lee turns to look as her brows furrow. "Your hair is ruined… the wind blew it everywhere." She doesn't really care, but a frustrated hiss escapes her mother's mouth and she moves closer to Ty Lee to rearrange it. Her elegant fingers take out the flower comb and pins and her dark brown hair falls down her back, all the way to her waist.

Rain starts to fall. It begins with small drops until it is a small downpour. The drops make a _ping-ping, thump-thump_ sound against the stone of the walkways. Against the grass it is a mere _shuffle-shuffle._

Covered walkways wind through the garden, lighted paths of save haven. In one of them not far away from Ty Lee and her mother, a small figure, not much taller than her, she supposes, leans against the railing and watches the rain fall. There is a distant and diluted look on her small face. Her eyes glow in the gloomy day.

Ty Lee is ever-curious. "Who is that, mother?" she asks quietly, nodding her head minutely toward the other small girl.

She can feel soft shuffling as her mother readjusts her body so that she can see what her daughter is talking about. As soon as she sees the girl, though, her body freezes slightly. "Oh," she says nonchalantly, "that is the Princess Azula. Do not talk to her, Ty Lee," her mother warns.

"Why?" Ty Lee wants to know.

The acrobat can feel the force of her mother's frown. "You must not talk to her because she is not part of our world, Ty Lee. You must not be kind to her. She is not approved by the Royal Family."

Her legs shift uncomfortably. She hates sitting for long period of time. "What's wrong with her? Isn't she a princess?"

"Yes, but that means nothing in this world, Ty Lee. She is a princess but her parents do not love her. It is said that she cannot even firebend."

"Why don't her parents love her?" Ty Lee is confused. Don't all parents love their children?

Her mother's hands still in her hair. "Some say," she whispers confidentially, "that it is because she is a stupid girl. But I do not believe them. I think it has more to do with the fact that she is intelligent and a firstborn. Everyone knows how Ozai feels about his brother, and with a daughter so similar to him… well," she shrugs and her hands pull brown hair into a convoluted twist.

"Oh."

Ty Lee watches the girl, observing how she is still even though the cold winds pull at her clothes and hair. Her arms are crossed and they push against the railing even as her head is raised toward the sky, now, and her eyes are closed. Lightning flashes and thunder follow closely, the sound reverberating through the courtyard. The ground trembles under them.

The Princess Azula's eyes open; they are gold and bright. Her aura is a soft gold also, tinged with red at the edges and interspersed with streaks of bright blue. She is a burning candle in the night and Ty Lee is attracted to her like a moth to flame.

She is different and Ty Lee likes different.

* * *

8.

One day near the end of the summer, Ty Lee's parents ask to speak to her alone. Her sisters have been back for almost two months now and she has somewhat greatly enjoyed the time that she has spent with them; they all seem so old, now, compared to her. She is the child of the family and they laugh and giggle when she doesn't get a joke or when she says something silly. She feels somewhat left out.

But it's all okay because Mistress Ami is still teaching her acrobatics and she can walk across a tightrope and flip all she wants. When her parents and sisters watch they have slightly disturbed and disgusted looks on their faces; Mistress Ami watches with proud admiration. Ty Lee likes Mistress Ami. She is teaching her to block chi and control a person's bending. It is a dangerous and powerful art, she is warned. You must not use it without cause.

I won't, she promises. I'll only use it when it is necessary.

She slips out of her shoes at the door leading into the house. Her socks make a soft noise against the wood of the floor as she walks through the hallways of her house – she reaches her father's study and, furtively looking around, presses her ear to the door before entering.

"Are you sure that now is the right time to tell her?" she can hear her mother asking.

"There is no better time," her father answers ambiguously.

Ty Lee pulls back from the door and frowns. Tell her what? Quietly she slides the door open, bowing shallowly as she enters and seats herself with her legs folded beneath her. "Mother," she greets. "Father." The wood floor is dark and carefully polished.

Her parents do not incline their heads or directly respond. Her father's dark eyes, brown with tints of hard gold, stare at her. There is sweat on her mother's brow. The girl uncomfortably shifts her legs. "You… wanted to speak to me?" she asks in a small voice.

They share a glance. Her mother's fingers clench in her lap and her lips purse but she says nothing. Instead, her father speaks. "We must speak with you about something very important, Ty Lee."

Again she shifts. "Oh?" What is it?

Her mother's voice is gentle and soothing. "We have cancelled your marriage arrangements to the eldest son of the Ito family."

"Really?" Ty Lee asks and her eyes are bright and there is a small, telling tilt to her lips. "So you really believe that I can be an acrobat? Wow!"

Now it is her parent's turn to shift uncomfortably. The room is warm and a drop of sweat runs down her mother's face, but she does not wipe it away. It smears her face paint and it almost looks like a tear. Ty Lee watches as a long silence endures. She retreats back into herself. It is obvious they do not think she can become a noteworthy acrobat. Her lower lip juts out a bit and she is disappointed.

Finally her father speaks. "No, Ty Lee. That is not why we have cancelled your engagement."

Obviously. It isn't fair, she thinks. It really isn't fair.

"We believe," her mother says, "that you have the capability to marry someone of much higher station."

Her eyes widen. "What do you mean?" she asks. Her voice trembles slightly.

Her father smiles and it is cold. "Ty Lee, it has become important that you marry very well. You and your marriage would bring great honor to our family. You would bring honor that is necessary in order for us to gain more influence at court."

Brows shift downward. "But aren't you a general? Aren't you influential enough?" Her father isn't like this. He is kind and gentle and he laughs and is jolly. Her mother isn't like this. She is sometimes rough but overall she is nice and loving and she holds her when she has bad dreams. This isn't her father; this isn't her mother.

"Certain events have recently caused us to lose power," her mother replies quietly. "You are the only one whose marriage was not formally in place."

"What about Mingzhu? Her engagement is still open to break!" Ty Lee pleads. Tears blur her eyes. Does this mean she will have to stop learning acrobatics?

The man across from her shakes his head solemnly. "Mingzhu's marriage was also cancelled, Ty Lee. It has been rearranged to General Hu's son."

A lone tear overflows and runs down her cheek. "But isn't Huian married to General Hu's son?"

Her mother's face is shadowed. "It was found that Mingzhu is incapable of bearing children. General Hu is very angry with us, and so it was made to be that Mingzhu would become his wife when she is old enough."

She sniffles. "What will happen to Huian?"

"She will come home and live with us," her father answers. "She will train to be a governess or tutor."

Ty Lee turns her face away so they will not see her cry. She hates when she cries because her entire face turns pink and her nose runs. Her aura turns into a gloomy grey and she hates when she cries. "Who do you want me to marry?" Her entire body quivers with sobs, and her words are breathy.

"Someone related to the Royal Family, on Azulon's side," her mother says. "That would give us a direct connection to the throne. Being related to the Lady Ilah does not count," she precludes Ty Lee's budding question, "because she married into the Royal Family."

"The best possible outcome would be that you marry the young prince."

Her head snaps back so that she can see her parent's faces. They are calm, although there are some lines of worry on her mother's. "What?" she asks incredulously. "But he is a year or two younger than me!"

"That does not matter," her father says.

"There is no way," Ty Lee says angrily, "that our family is noble enough to hope to marry a prince."

Her mother blinks slowly and her father smirks. "Prince Ozai's wife is the Lady Ursa, who is related to Avatar Roku. Although her family is noble, Avatar Roku is disgraced, as Fire Lord Sozin told everyone about his lies and wrath." Ty Lee knows about Avatar Roku; Fire Lord Sozin had warned of his greed and how his death had been his own doing. "And look… she married a prince. If she can, so can you."

"I don't want to."

Her mother's eyes wrinkle and the young girl can see her blinking back tears. "You are our only hope, Ty Lee."

"I can't."

"You must." Her father's voice is made of iron. She cannot help but bend.

Her head hangs low in acceptance and she hates it. She hates them. She hates Prince Zuko and his mother and the Fire Lord and General Hu and she _just _wanted to be an acrobat. That's all. She didn't ever ask for anything else.

A paper appears in front of her, and she looks up slightly as a servant that had previously been kneeling in the corner backs away. The servant is deaf and he usually present in meetings such as this. Ty Lee secretly thinks that he can read lips, but she doesn't tell her parents.

She looks at the paper. There are names carefully written in blank ink on the page, all names of girls. "What is this?" she asks.

"Those are names of girls who you must befriend. Their families are, at times, influential. Either that or they are related to Azulon and have brothers."

She frowns. "Who is Jin?" There are so many names…

Her mother answers. She has been silent for a while, too busy holding back her tears. "A girl of merchant birth; her father has been a councilor to Prince Ozai before, however, and if you are friends with her it may give you a connection to the Royal Family."

Ty Lee hates this. She hates it all. But she bows respectfully, low, and leaves the room without being dismissed. As she walks down the hallway she can hear her sisters giggling and she hates them too because everything doesn't depend on them. Everything depends on her.

Once she is back in her room, she looks down at the paper in her hand. She hates the paper. She clenches her fist around the paper and it becomes little more than trash. Angrily, she throws it underneath the bed before flopping down and crying into her pillow.

She can't do it. She just can't do it.

* * *

9.

The Academy isn't what she expected. It is light and airy with white walls, and she had expected red on gold and black. There is no rank in the Academy, but there is rank in the Academy. The teachers treat them all the same but the girls treat each other differently. The merchant girls are lower than the noble girls, and they know it. When Ty Lee waits in line to get her lunch, they let her cut them with small bows. It is flattering but it doesn't really make a difference.

Ty Lee doesn't want to be friends with them anyways.

But even though they let her cut in line, they don't want to be her friend either. Apparently everyone knows how she is different.

The first night she eats in the main dining hall. She looks around for her sisters, but when her eyes land on them and they turn around. A pang goes through her heart. She is not welcome there. None of the other tables look very welcoming either. Well, she doesn't want to be friends with them. Not at all.

So she inconspicuously makes her way to an empty spot at a table with only one other girl. A comfortable silence follows as she eats her duck and drinks her tea. The light shining through the windows begins to fade and the torches are then lit, casting the room into shades of orange and yellow. Ty Lee hears a loud commotion from a nearby table and looks over.

A girl with long, black hair is giggling politely, one hand covering her mouth. The other girls are giggling, too, and their glances are pointed in the direction of a girl eating alone on the fringes of the dining hall. Her hair half-pulled up and her back is facing Ty Lee. She moves and the acrobat can see the side of her face. With a jolt of surprise she recognizes the girl. Is that - ?

"You're better off without them," a voice from next to her advises.

Ty Lee looks over and it is the other girl at her table. She has slanted gold eyes and short black hair in messy pigtails. Her plate is still mostly full but she doesn't seem to be eating very much.

"What do you mean?" Ty Lee asks.

The other girl pushes her food around her plate with her chopsticks. "Those girls are shallow and full of themselves. All they do is make fun of the other girls."

The girl with the long black hair at the nearby table laughs even louder and they both turn to look at her again. "Who is that?"

"Her name is Jin," her new acquaintance says. "She's just a merchant's daughter but she acts like she is a princess. And everyone lets her get away with it."

Ty Lee watches as the girl says something that looks suitably nasty. "She doesn't seem very nice," she observes.

"She isn't."

The girl with pigtails is looking at her when she turns around. When she speaks, her voice is the high voice of a little girl but she sounds so _bored. _She seems so weary. "How do you know about her?"

Pigtail girl shrugs. "I got here a week early."

"Oh," she says. "Well, my name is Ty Lee."

"My name is Mai," Mai says. There is a glint of something in her eyes that Ty Lee can't identify and she's not sure that she likes it. But she smiles and holds out her hand anyways. Mai catches it and squeezes it lightly.

Ty Lee's smile grows. "Do you think we could be friends?" she asks. Mai smiles back, a razor of a smile, and shrugs.

"Maybe."

Ty Lee giggles. Mai isn't on her parent's list of 'important girls', but she becomes friends with her anyways.

* * *

10.

A week has passed since Ty Lee helped the Princess Azula escape from Jin. Ty Lee hates Jin and she writes her parents that they are the best of friends, but it is all a lie. But she likes it better this way. Mai is a good friend and they spend a lot of time reading and talking in the library – not many of the girls spend time in the library. It is a quiet and nice meeting place.

But Ty Lee hasn't seen Azula very much. A smile in the hallway, passing notes in class, that embarrassing lunch incident involving tea and the front of Jin's dress – Ty Lee giggles at the memory – but except for glimpses and lunch (where most of the time Azula is almost silent), she hasn't gotten to talk to her at all. And Ty Lee wants to be friends with Azula because Azula is different like her and Mai. Differents should stick together, she reasons mentally.

"I'm going to go and find Azula," she announces on their free day. Mai looks up from where she is taking down notes from her scroll, on her bed, and quirks a brow. Ty Lee is in the middle of a handstand.

"Okay. See you later," Mai says. She continues to write.

Ty Lee smiles. Mai is so funny. She pushes her feet forward and gracefully lands. Her body unbends and she stands upright. "Bye!" she says, walking toward the door. She stops in the doorway and angles her head back at the knife-user. "You sure you don't want to come?" she asks.

"Yeah," Mai says.

Ty Lee shrugs. "See you at dinner."

She marches down the hallway, ducking around giggling girls and spontaneously performing a double front flip. Several of the girls give her dirty looks, but she just grins back at them. Her sister Baozhai, here for her final year of schooling before she marries, shakes her head but gives her a small smile anyways.

Azula isn't in her room when she gets there and there aren't any classes today, so Ty Lee heads to the practice courts. She is there, moving her hands in swirls as blue fire pours out, heating the air around her. She looks rather warm although it is chilly outside.

"Hey, Azula!" Ty Lee says loudly, jumping up and down and waving her arms.

The princess turns around and her face looks amused when she sees Ty Lee. She waves her arm and the acrobat walks onto the courts – no one else is there but them. She flips so that she lands in front of her new friend. "Hi Azula!" she says happily. "What were you doing? Firebending?"

"Yes," says Azula. "I was practicing a routine. What were you doing?"

She smiles. "Oh, Mai and I were studying in her room but I wanted to come find you. Mai didn't want to come because she likes to study. I wonder what's wrong with her," she muses.

Azula laughs, and it is a small laugh – but it is a start. When she stops, her eyes twinkle a bit. "You can't firebend, can you?" she asks with interest.

Ty Lee shakes her head. "No, and neither can Mai. But I'm going to be an acrobat and Mai will throw knives and we're going to join the circus. Hey, you want to come too?"

The princess looks bemused. "I'll think about it," she promises dazedly.

Ty Lee claps her hands together in elation. That's good enough for her. She tilts her head to the side with a curious look on her face. "Do you want me to teach you to back-flip?" she asks carefully.

Azula looks somewhat nervous. "I don't know," she answers. "Is it hard?"

"Sometimes," Ty Lee says. "But once you get the hang of it, it's a lot of fun."

"Okay," Azula says anxiously. "What do I do?"

Ty Lee stands so there is plenty of room behind her and puts her hands above her head. Her knees bend. "Watch," she instructs, and pushes up with her knees and lands perfectly on her hands; she pushes again and she is on her feet. "You have to push enough to move your body weight," she explains. "Now, get into this position." She demonstrates.

The other girl moves into the position, her hands in the air. "Now push!" Ty Lee says loudly.

Azula pushes and ends up confused and on her backside. Her eyes blink as Ty Lee watches, wide and open and obviously baffled. She giggles but it isn't cruel.

"Yeah," she says. "That's pretty much how my first time went too. Want to try again?"

She holds her hand out to the princess. _You must not talk to her, _her mother had said. _You must not be kind to her_.

Azula looks warily from her hand to her face.

"Come on," Ty Lee urges.

Azula grabs her hand and pulls herself off the ground. Ty Lee beams.

Freedom is fleeting.

She will take what she can get.


	7. don't shake me loose of her

**Title:** ab igne ignem capere  
**Chapter Title: **don't shake me loose of her  
**Author:** honestly_sangi / Sangi  
**Prompt:** 31_days ; july 3rd ; don't shake me loose of her  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own A:TLA or anything contained within or related to it.  
**Word Count: **9242  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters: **Mai and her family, Ty Lee, Azula, Zhao, Zuko, Ursa  
**Author's Notes:** This is my idea of an alternate universe in which Azula was born first, is generally unloved, and turns out to be a kind-of hero.

I just realized that a while ago someone asked why this story is rated T. Well, later there will be some darker/more violent themes, and I just feel like that merits a higher rating. Also, I'm not necessarily sure what will happen in the future and I would like to be sure that everything is covered. If, when I finish the story, it does not really merit a T rating, I will change it.

Note on updating: classes start on the 19th for me, but I've come up with a schedule where I should be able to update every ten days or so. We will see how it works.

This is an interlude on Mai.

Ab igne ignem capere -  
To light a fire with fire  
- Cicero

_Is it okay because everybody does it?  
__No laws are broken if we are all committing the same crime  
- _Vienna Teng, White Light

* * *

0.

Mai is the only child of a wealthy and influential family.

And she is a girl.

* * *

1.

Her eyes are the blazing gold of a typical Fire Nation child. They are slanted and are as shutoff as she is quiet. She is not like other children; she does not cry unless she wants something, and her eyes are always open, always searching. Her nose is a small button, straight and thin, and her lips are rarely smiling, but also rarely frowning. Her hair is black and curl-less but thin and it hangs down messily and perfectly to grace the tops of her ears.

Her mother stares at her, eyes wide and unblinking. Her daughter is beautiful and healthy and everything in between, but all she can see is her disappearing life. She had imagined herself the magical bearer of five or so sons, sons that would become military heroes and that would satisfy their father to no end.

It will not be the way that she imagined.

Mai watches silently. Her eyes are contemplative and dark.

"You should be thankful," the healer had said. The younger woman had lain in bed, her hair in a wide fan around her head. "Childbirth was hard on your body. It is unlikely that it could withstand another pregnancy and labor." The woman's eyes had been serious and obscure. "I would advise heavily against even trying for another child."

Mai's mother frowns. Her top lip curls. She is young, perhaps eighteen, and stoically beautiful. Her hair is messy, un-done, and it hangs in disorderly waves to her waist. Her clothes are wrinkled. She is still in a daze from what the healer had told her. With a few words, she had demolished her plans. Like most noble girls, she had been a sheltered child with endless dreams that she expected would come to life.

But sheltered children step out into the world and are destroyed. She cannot let herself be weak.

Golden eyes blink uncertainly at her. They seem to ask, _what will you do? _

"I don't know," she whispers to the emptiness of the room. She is alone in this; no one is there to whisper comforting words and to tell her that everything will be alright. She does not know – or want to know – where her husband is. He is a busy man.

She loves her husband and he loves her, but their love is made of mutual respect and some fabricated passion. She had manipulated him, childishly but surely, into marrying her. But love is both versatile and volatile, even theirs, and he is but a man; fickle and rather simple in nature. She had manipulated him, yes, but once his attention begins to waver she is not sure of her ability to win him back.

She must not lose him in the first place, then. Her mind is made up and her eyes narrow. Mai's eyes close for a long minute. She must make the most out of what she has.

And although a daughter is well and fine, there is no boy to become a military hero or to carry on the family name, and she is stuck with a delicate-looking girl called Mai. Her eyelashes are long and cast shadows over her high cheekbones. She will be striking when she gets older.

Her lips tighten. She will do anything and everything to keep her husband, and to show the other nobles that their daughter is the best, the most intelligent and skilled. And she will make a noble and fine marriage. She will be the most elegant and sought-out lady in all of the Fire Nation.

The baby stirs and her eyes crinkle up. Her focus is blurry but her eyes seem to stare at her mother. Her mouth opens and a small, echoing whimper escapes into the still air. The older woman moves to hush the baby.

"Shh, shh," she murmurs. "Everything will be alright, everything will be okay. Mother is here now and she will take care of you." A small smile emerges on her face. The older woman watches, pondering possibilities. "Yes, I will take care of you. How do you feel about that?"

The baby smiles even wider, an unusual occurrence, at the warm and feminine voice. Mai gurgles softly and wriggles her body in glee. The sound is heady yet joyful to the woman – this is her only child. She will do her best to ensure that she will represent their family fairly and bring them honor.

"Yes," her voice is melodious and low, "you will be beautiful and talented and dangerous." Her smile is razor-thin. "Just like your mother.

Mai's smile grows wider and it seems as if her eyes lighten to lukewarm amber. Her mother pushes back a stray hair from her face.

Above all, the woman muses, her daughter will not be sheltered. She will be strong and even defiant. No, not defiant; strong like wood. And everyone will want to be her.

"You," she whispers softly as she strokes the young child's hair, "will be my salvation."

* * *

2.

Mai is three when she first stumbles into the weapons room in their large home. It is tucked away near one of the back courtyards. She has an unhealthy habit of escaping the notice of her mother and countless other servants, only to aimlessly wander the halls, brimming with latent curiosity. She is a quiet child but she dislikes authority, often disobeying what her mother tells her to do.

The room is large and airy, and light filters through the paper of the walls to illuminate shining silver. On one side hang the longer swords and knives; the other holds several collections of throwing stars and small, more agile knives. They glimmer ominously in the light and she toddles forward, reaching her hands out – but they are much too high up for her to reach and she falls back on her bottom as her attempt fails.

Heavy footsteps behind her alert her to someone's presence. Her head turns around, looking at the doorway.

"Ah, there you are," her father beams at her. "Your mother has the whole household in an uproar, looking for you."

Mai smiles. "Oops," she says.

"Yes," he agrees, coming to stand next to her. "Oops indeed. But that's alright. Were you looking at the knives?" he asks her, kneeling down so he can ruffle her short hair.

"Yes," her small voice intones. "I want one."

Her father laughs, a rumbling sound that echoes on the wood of the floors. "Not yet," he tweaks her nose teasingly, "maybe when you are older."

He stands, brushing off his robes, and walks across the room to the opposite wall, where the longer swords rest. His hands reverently brush a sword, sheathed in brilliantly shining leather, before plucking off the wall carefully. He turns around and Mai can see that the hilt of the sword is encrusted with several large, luminescent gems.

"This," his voice is soft and gentle as he sets himself on his knees next to her, "is a sword passed down for generations. I would give it to my son, if I had one, but instead it will go to you."

Mai solemnly reaches out her hand and her fingers can barely touch the sword, but she can feel its call.

"But not until you are older," her father says, again, and suddenly Mai is upset. Everyone always tells her that she is too young to do this, that she will understand when she is older. And she wants to be older right now!

Her small fist hits the ground with a resounding thump. "No," she says stubbornly. Her father's eyebrows raise, the sword still in his hands. "I want a knife," she explains. "Now."

The older man watches her for a moment. She is his only child, and she will always be his only child. She is not a boy, but… but she could be a warrior, couldn't she? It is not unheard of; many noble ladies, firebenders especially, learned the martial arts and the way of the sword and knife. His eyes regard her, and his are the same glowing gold as hers. "Are you sure?" he asks quietly as he turns and carefully arranges the heirloom back in position. "If you would be willing to learn, I would hire you a tutor. In a year or so, of course."

His back is to her and his eyes are clenched. His wife will be upset, but that doesn't really matter. She's always upset at everything, anyways, so why should he worry?

Mai's eyes blink. "I want a knife," she repeats. "Yes." Her clothes are wrinkled and she is but a little girl, sitting on the hard wooden floor with her feet out in front of her. The white socks stand out against the bright crimson of her dress and over-robe, and when the man turns back to look at her it's almost a humorous sight.

She is but a girl, and yet so much more. She is his daughter and his only child.

"Then I will make arrangement," he murmurs so that she can hear, "for you to learn. But later. For now, I must take you back to your mother. I'm sure she's worried about you."

Her smile is bright and he almost never sees it, so he places the picture fondly in his memory. "Okay," Mai says and toddles unsteadily to her feet, holding out her arms for him to pick her up. Her face is delicate and she will be lovely when she is older.

She is his daughter, but she will be a warrior and a hero. He will have to make do with what he has been given.

* * *

3.

The weight of the knife in her hand is hefty and sure. She likes how it weighs down her fingers as she deftly tosses it at the wooden board. It hits near the center, on the red circle that clearly marks the board a target. The next knife is thrown from her other hand and it thuds into the wood not far from the first.

Her stance is loose with relief. She knows that, somewhere, her father is watching her. And her teacher may not be here, but next time that he comes she will show him her progress and he will be so proud of her.

She likes it when people are proud of her.

Mai's feet carry her over to the board, where she quickly takes the two knives out of the wood. Her fingers trace the deep, obvious grooves in the wood and inwardly smiles. Soon, she will need a new target.

Above her head, the sky crackles with tangible electricity. Clouds obscure the sun; they are dark and heavy clouds that hang low in the sky and promise a long and hard rainstorm. At least I'll be able to get some practice in later, she muses.

A soft whoosh of breath is let out of her as she trudges across the green, lush grass of the courtyard back to her starting point. She gathers the knives she left in a haphazard pile on the ground and walks toward the house. The steps are big for her feet and she has to take care not to trip and fall. She slips her shoes off at the door and slides it open, quietly going to her room.

The knives are laid on her bed as she retrieves a bottle of something brown and liquid, and a delicate triangle of cloth. Carefully, she unscrews the top and begins to polish the knives, one by one. They shimmer and shine even without the light of the sun.

The door creaks as it opens, a little, and she looks up to see one of her mother's personal servants standing there. Her face is lined with light wrinkles and her eyes are watchful. Her mother doesn't like the servants to be too young. "Mistress Mai, your mother wishes to see you in her apartments."

Deftly, she puts the knife she was polishing back in its case and unfolds herself from the bed. She is still a small child, the servant thinks, but there is so much weight resting on her. When she doesn't move, the little girl raises a brow and she must hide a smile. "Do you think that you should change?" the woman asks gently.

Mai looks down at herself. She is wearing brown breeches, made to get dirty, and a loose black shirt. "No," she says after a moment.

The woman turns around and walks. Mai follows, her socks reducing the sound to a slight clunk-creak-clunk as her weight puts pressure on the wood. The hallways are dimly lit and she thinks that she can hear the rain outside. Thunder rumbles ominously and the door to her mother's room opens with a soft sound hidden by the noise.

She folds her legs underneath her and bows her head when she reaches the low table that her mother sits at. Her bangs obscure her vision, but she can still see the teacup in the light grasp of her mother's elegant hands.

"Mother," she greets quietly.

The figure shifts. "No smile for your mother?" the woman asks, a bit of bitterness leaking into her voice.

Mai looks up and smiles. It is a small, delicate smile – the smile of a young lady at court, or of a beautiful courtesan. It does not come naturally, really, to her. But she has practiced enough that it is relatively easy.

Her mother smiles in return. It is the satisfied smile of a cat-bird who has caught a mouse-raccoon in the bushes. It highlights the youth and beauty of her face, but even at her young age Mai knows what the veil can hide. It can hide everything. "That's better," her mother almost-purrs in contentment. "You look so much more ladylike when you smile, Mai."

Mai does not respond, but she meets her mother's eyes. They are the same color but a different shape – more almond and round, while hers are slanted exotically. She is so different than her mother, but no one seems to want to notice.

The smile on her mother's face thins, and a light sneer appears. It transforms her. "Why do you do this?"

"What do you mean, mother?" Mai asks in the small voice of a child, but it does not waver.

"You know what I mean, girl. This silly affectation of yours that your father approves of – throwing knives? I might be able to understand learning more of the sword. At least that would be more honorable and becoming for a young lady." There is a growing darkness in her mother's eyes and a little bit of desperation too.

Mai looks away, to the lightly papered window, where she can see sporadic flashes of lightning, blurred by the paper but still visible. "I like to throw knives. I'm good at it."

Her mother watches her face carefully. "Do you know what will happen, if you continue to be a warrior? The Fire Nation makes use of every warrior. Things will be required of you."

Mai sits in silence. The room is humid and her clothes stick uncomfortably to her arms.

The older woman changes again. The sneer disappears, a failed option, and instead concern paints her features bleak. "They will require you to kill. Kill people, people who have families and lives and children of their own at home. Do…" here she hesitates, but only for a fraction of a moment, "do you know what death is?" she asks quietly and dangerously.

Mai's fists clench in the brown of her breeches. Death is dark and something that she doesn't understand, but she knows that death takes away the old and sometimes the young, and animals too. And they never come back. They go to the Spirit World.

Death is dark and she doesn't think she likes it. But it is necessary, she thinks, for there to be a balance.

"Yes," Mai answers after a long moment. Her eyes glance at her mother, whose knuckles are white with the force of clenching the teacup.

Thunder booms, making the air vibrate. Quietly, she continues, "I know what death is."

* * *

4.

The air is brisk and fresh in the mornings. As the day goes on and the sun rises, the air heats and turns thick with water. But Mai likes mornings the best because no one bothers her or tells her to do anything. Her mother is asleep in her room and her father is working on battle strategies in his study and the servants are bustling about and nobody pays any attention to her. She can wander around and practice throwing knives.

Sometimes she likes to watch the sunrise. Today it is red meshed with orange with tinges of purple at the edges and to her it is simply beautiful.

Her head is positioned on her arms, folded behind her skull and touching the grass on the ground. It itches a little bit, but the sight is worth it. She doesn't really mind if she stains her clothes, because the maids will wash them and bring them back clean. That's how it works, Mai thinks, and she likes it organized that way.

She likes things simple like that. Controlled.

Grass crunches behind her, and she pushes her head back so that she can see who it is. All she can see for a moment is black, expensive-looking leather boots with red dragons up the sides. Her eyes travel up the naval uniform to see a man, maybe the same age as her father, whose eyes are piercing gold and his hair is a dark brown.

"Hello," he greets amiably, but his eyes are like an owl's and she can almost feel them probing into her soul.

Mai pushes off the ground and wipes her hands on her clothes. She half-turns her body so she can better look at the stranger. "Good morning," she returns, "you are here rather early." Her voice is flat for such a young child, the man thinks.

"Yes," he agrees. "But isn't this morning so beautiful?" There is a small, charming smile on his face as his head gestures toward the painted sky. He looks very kind to her but she can see there is a hardness inside of him, like there is inside of her mother.

She shrugs. "All mornings are beautiful."

"You look very much like your mother," he observes abruptly. "But your eyes are different."

"I know," Mai says. "I get that a lot."

He hmms in response and folds himself as he sits on the ground. His legs are crossed and he rests his weight on his arms, and his hands lie flat on the ground. Small pieces of grass show between his fingers. He has very large hands. They have calluses.

Mai re-positions her body so that she can see the sun rise, slowly but surely, while also looking at this interesting man every once and a while. He looks familiar, but she is sure that she has never seen him before. Maybe there is something about the eyes? She can't be sure.

"You are Mai, aren't you?" he asks after a few silent moments.

Mai gives him a sidelong glance. "Sometimes. Other times, I'm 'girl' or 'child'. I guess it depends."

The man gives a low chuckle. "I know another little girl that you would like, Mai. She is a bit more talkative and she likes to smile, but you both have things in common."

"Who is she?"

He shakes his head. "You wouldn't know her. She is a daughter of my… friend. Our families know each other, and I see her often when I stay in the capital."

Mai turns her head to fully look at him. Half of his face is illuminated by the light. The other half is concealed by lingering darkness.

"Is she going to go to the Academy?" Mai asks after a minute.

"Yes," he answers. "She will go to the Academy in two years. I believe that you will be attending then, also?" his voice is curious but there is something beneath that she doesn't understand.

Mai nods. "I'll be going in a couple of years." Her face is indifferent.

The strange man smiles, crookedly, before sitting up straight and unfolding his legs, letting them stick out in front of him on the ground. "Good," he says musingly. "Maybe you will meet her then."

Mai shrugs again. "Maybe," she offers.

His smile grows to the other half of his face as he turns to look her in the eyes. His hair is ruffled lightly by a passing breeze. She watches dispassionately.

"I should go," he says, as he stands up and brushes off his clothing. He is tall and she must crane her neck to see his face, even once she has stood up as well. Her robes are irrevocably stained, but it doesn't matter. They'll be clean again tomorrow. "I have a meeting with your father regarding some plans," he explains.

The little girl's eyes are gold and dispassionate and he sort of wishes that he could give them light. "It's okay," she says. "I have to get ready for my lessons."

"Oh?" the man asks. "What do you learn in your lessons?"

She rolls her eyes. "The tea ceremony, how to speak politely, how to arrange flowers." How to ensnare a rich noble to marry. But she's sure that mother is saving that lesson for later.

He meets her eye-roll with a bitter chuckle. "Who are you?" she wonders curiously. "What is your name?" She watches as his face transforms from dark to light in a fraction of a second.

His grin is wide and there is a twinkle in his eyes as he turns away. "You may call me Zhao," he throws back over his shoulder.

"Zhao," she repeats, dubiously. Then she shrugs. "I guess I'll never see him again anyways."

* * *

5.

"Why are you letting her do this?" His wife asks. Chopsticks lay abandoned next to her platter and the food is untouched. They are alone in the dining room except for several silent servants lined up against the far wall.

Slowly he takes a sip of his tea. "What do you mean?" he asks after a long moment, setting down his cup with a soft clink. His knees are pressed into a soft cushion and he shifts imperceptibly.

Her face is almost disgusted. "You know what I mean," she says in a low and dangerous voice. "Why do you let our daughter turn into this – this," her mouth snarls unattractively, "fighter. Why do you let her throw knives against the target and let her play warrior?"

The man watches apathetically.

"She has calluses on her hands. Calluses! And she's so young. What about later? How will she grow up to be a lady if she is forever acting like a man?"

His face is expressionless as he answers. "It is not uncommon for women of the noble class to learn to protect themselves. Many women learn the art of the sword, and there are women firebenders also."

His beautiful yet ugly wife tosses her hair over her shoulder angrily. "But all true women of the noble class have never touched a weapon! They are true ladies and their honor and person is protected by their family. There is no need for her to learn this. So why?"

Her husband takes a bite of some greens and chews leisurely before answering her question. "She expressed an interest in the art. So I allowed her to study it."

"Mai doesn't know what is best for her," his wife says derisively and snorts. "I do."

His eyes watch her carefully. "Am I not her parent also?"

She falters. "Yes, but she is a girl, and…"

He cuts her off. "And nothing. She is my child, this is my house, and you are my wife. I have made this decision and you will abide by it. A true lady is obedient to her husband, yes?" His voice is lightly mocking as her face flushes brilliantly.

The woman says nothing for the rest of her meal. She picks at her food without purpose before bowing and leaving him alone in the dining hall to pick over his thoughts. She had surprised him with that. He has known for some time about her illustrious plans for Mai, and has no particular care if they work out. As far as he is concerned, Mai is better suited to figure out her own happiness. He knows that he will have to appease his wife by letting her introduce Mai to some potential suitors for when she is older. But he doesn't worry about that now.

"Father?" a small voice asks from the doorway. When he turns to look he sees his daughter, standing in her practice clothes with dark socks on her feet. Her face is blank but her legs shift nervously, dragging the fabric along the floor.

He smiles softly and nods to the recently vacated cushion across from him. "Come and sit with me, Mai," he cajoles and she walks forward to sit gracefully. "Was there something you wanted?" he asks, watching her look at her lap.

"Is something wrong? Mother was very angry when I saw her. She looked very upset."

His smile grows. "Nothing happened. Your mother and I simply had a disagreement."

Mai's eyes are curious and liquid gold as they look at him. "Why?"

"Sometimes your mother and I do not see things eye to eye. We disagree on such things from time to time. It is not that unusual."

She pulls her legs up to her chest and secures them by wrapping her arms around her knees. "What did you disagree about this time?"

The servants are still watching from across the room. They have heard every word muttered that night, and most nights, but they are quiet and will wait until later before they gossip among themselves about the argument. The table in front of him had been cleared while he had been thinking earlier, and now it was again just dark wood. He wonders idly where the uneaten food goes to.

"Tonight," he begins, "your mother and I disagreed about your lessons in the art of the knife. She believes that you are wasting your time, and I believe otherwise."

The girl's eyes drop back down to the ground. "Oh," she says simply.

Mai is a smart girl and she waits for him to speak again. "I won, of course. But I tried to explain to her why, and she doesn't like that."

"Why do you try and explain if she doesn't like it?" Mai wonders out loud.

He waits until she looks back up at him. His eyes are serious and his body is still. "Because," he says, "it is better to die trying than never to try at all."

* * *

6.

The palace is big. That's Mai's first impression. It is big and red and hard marble and daunting, nothing at all like the giving wood and peacefulness of her house. It is full of soldiers and firebenders and even the Fire Lord is there, secluded somewhere in his lair. She looks at a tapestry to her left, one that depicts an epic battle between a bearded man and a dragon. Her fingers reach out to touch it, but they are quickly grasped by her mother as she pulls her along the dimly lit hallway.

"Come, Mai," her mother orders peremptorily. Her feet drag against the floor, but her back is straight and she hates playing the lady. Her mother plays the lady much better than her, but Mai is dressed up and the maids gush and say _oh, doesn't she look beautiful? _And Mai doesn't care. All she wants is to go home and take off these itchy clothes. And maybe she can get in some practice later.

The doors they stop in front of are large. They are in the main palace, not in the living apartments where the Royal Family lives. Mai and her mother had walked through that area and it had been a lot smaller, and a lot more familiar. But these doors are two or three times as tall as her, and they are gold with striking accents of black.

Two guards bow, their masks in place, and push open the heavy doors. They do not creak; they are silent, well-oiled.

Inside the large room sits a low table made of dark-stained wood, at the center. Seated at the table are an older woman and a young boy. The woman is beautiful and her eyes are kind, but the boy is younger than Mai and his face is an angry red. His clothes are black and they serve to emphasize the brilliant gold of his eyes.

Her eyes are gold too.

The girl's mother bows and Mai does as well. Her bow is perfect. She has practiced it repeatedly.

"Don't mess this up," Mai's mother says through gritted teeth, although she is smiling widely. She looks lovely. Sometimes she is lovely, but not always.

Mai says nothing.

She follows her mother as she walks to the low table and takes the seat next to the older woman. Mai is left with the seat next to the young boy. "Lady Ursa," her mother greets warmly. "It is a pleasure to see you again."

Ursa smiles politely. "Yes," she agrees. "It has been a long time since we have seen each other. This is your daughter?" she asks, looking at Mai. The young girl just looks back at her, face blank. The boy next to her shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

"Oh, yes," her mother gushes. "This is Mai. She will be attending the Academy next year."

Mai bows her head shallowly, and then stares down at her lap. Her fists are clenched together and her nails are painted a dark crimson.

"And this is your son, Prince Zuko?" her mother asks, a smile still on her face. The look in her eye is speculative as she evaluates the little boy.

Ursa's small smile turns somewhat bitter, but no one is looking at her. No one but Zuko, and he does not notice. "Yes," she explains. "This is Prince Zuko. He is a very intelligent boy, but… well, I'm afraid that he didn't sleep well last night and he is a bit sleepy. Right, Zuko?" Her voice is gentle as she prods the boy verbally.

Zuko grunts. "Tired," he admits in a small voice. His face is still red. Idly, Mai wonders why.

Her mother makes a clucking sound. It echoes in the large marble room. "Oh, that is too bad. Was he feeling unwell?"

Ursa nods tightly. "Quite unwell."

The two mothers continue to talk. Mai takes this opportunity to look around the room at the different ornaments and the mural on the back wall that shows a large flame consuming a village. She is looking past Zuko's ear and he turns to look at her, curiously. She raises a brow and he makes an ugly face at her.

"What happened to your face?" she asks him.

He puffs out like an angered platypus-cat. "What do you mean?"

Mai shrugs. "Well, I hope it isn't normally like that. It's sort of ugly."

Zuko frowns and his brows furrow. "I got burned yesterday in firebending practice. It'll heal! And I'm not ugly!" he protests. "My mother says I'm the most handsomest boy ever."

Mai giggles. "All mothers say stuff like that," she explains. Zuko sticks out his tongue.

"Well," he boasts, "my mother is the best because she's the prettiest and the nicest."

She turns to glance between her mother and his. They are talking, her mother looking quite animated while the Lady Ursa simply looks resigned. There is a light bitterness to her features that mars her beauty. Or maybe it makes her more beautiful. Mai isn't sure. Her father once told her that some things that should be ugly are beautiful, but she doesn't really know what that means.

The girl turns back to Zuko and rolls her eyes inconspicuously. "Sure," she concedes. "Your mother is the best."

His smile is bright. "I know. Your mom is ugly."

Mai makes an apathetic sound.

"You're a little ugly too," he says, and he squints at her. "Really ugly."

The knife-thrower can tell that he is completely serious. "Sure." Her voice is detached.

His face contorts from cute and smiling to ugly and sneering. She has never seen a little boy look so fierce, so demanding. She doesn't like it and she isn't even sure that it's right. There is a look of carefully composed disdain in his eye – too much for someone so young. She looks over at Ursa. Who has been teaching him this? She wonders for a moment. He opens his mouth, presumably to yell, but a voice catches their attention.

"Do you think that Mai would like to come and play with Zuko some other time?" Ursa is asking. Zuko's mouth closes.

Her mother turns to look at them. A confident smile grows slowly on her face. "Yes," she says, tapping her delicate fan against one hand, "I am sure that Zuko and Mai will become fast friends."

Ursa's eyes turn and they catch Mai's interest. There is relief and hope in them. Desperate but still-alive hope. Mai has seen this look before, when her mother looks in the mirror or when someone observes that she has no sons.

The Lady murmurs, "I expect so."

* * *

7.

Mai likes the palace, but in a different way than how she likes her house. Her house is busy and bustling and her mother is always there, with an iron fist clenched around them all. The palace is distinct and dissimilar. She is sure that somewhere there is frenetic activity in the kitchens and in the rooms where the maids giggle and work but most of the palace is quiet. Nobles walk down the walls, whispering to each other, and guards march and the clank-clank of their armor reverberates on the marble, but the palace is peaceful and it is a refuge from the training she receives at home.

She sits on the wooden floor and watches as a boy plays with his toys. He does not really speak to her, and she does not really speak to him. The arrangement works.

Her mother had carefully pinned her hair this morning, not trusting the servants to do this right. She had pulled at her silk clothing, smoothing it out. "You need to be on your best behavior, Mai. And you need to be ladylike and elegant. Do you understand?" Mai had nodded. The acquiescence had tasted somewhat dark on her tongue.

The arrangement that she has with Prince Zuko came about the first time their mothers shoved them in a room together with an old and sleeping servant in the corner. He had glared at her and she had looked dispassionately at him. It had continued that way until Zuko marched off to grab his toys, and he played in silence while she watched, and it is that way now.

Today Mai notices something different. Across the room, placed precariously atop a wooden chest, is a doll dressed in green with elaborate carving and make-up. She shifts so she can see it better. "Whose is that?" she asks quietly.

Zuko looks up. "What?" He sneers. She points to the doll and his head turns to look at it. His eyes roll and he continues to play with his firebender figurines. "That's Azula's," he explains rudely.

Mai walks over to the doll and picks it up. She has one similar to it at home, but hers is dressed in shades of bright red and gold and the skin is pale and painted white. This doll is different from hers. Her doll is the epitome of a perfect Fire Nation lady, and this doll is not. "Who is Azula?" she asks idly.

"My sister," Zuko replies. His eyes do not move to look at her.

Mai has not heard of a princess. She has not heard that Zuko has a sister, but she is sure her mother must have known because her mother knows everything. And maybe Azula will be a better play-mate than Zuko. Maybe she can do something cool, other than the firebending moves that Zuko likes to show-off. When she scoffs at him, he pushes her down and laughs. It isn't an uncommon occurrence.

She smoothes the doll's clothing before carefully setting it back down. "I didn't know you had a sister."

Zuko shrugs one shoulder. "She's older than me," he explains. Mai watches as he takes one firebender and pits it against the other firebender. There is a cruel twist to his face.

"Do you see her often? Would I ever meet her?" Mai wonders, going back and sitting cross-legged in front of the young prince.

The boy snorts. "No. Father doesn't let people meet Azula. Not really, anyways."

One firebender pushes the other down. The victor stands and Zuko parodies the sounds of an audience clapping. He sends her a harsh look and reluctantly Mai claps. The sound is dull in her ears. Zuko suddenly smirks and sets aside the figure in his hands, picking up the defeated bender. In a flash of light, it is burning quickly, consumed by red – orange – yellow flames. In a moment it is gone, a memory placed in ashes.

Mai's brows furrow. "Why did you do that?"

Zuko's face is sinister and cruel and he really just a child, she thinks, really just a child like me. "That's what happens to losers. They die like animals."

Her face is blank but inside she recoils. What kind of boy is this? "Who told you that?" she asks neutrally. Zuko moves his hand and watches seriously as ash falls from his hand onto the floor.

His gold eyes turn to look at her and she feels like he's looking into her mind. "Father told me about losers and winners. He says that you have to win or else you are a dis-" he frowns. "A dis-ger-ace. That's what he told me."

Mai makes a small sound that could be taken as agreement and traces swirling patterns on the floor with the knife she has pulled out of her inner robes. The tip makes a light scratching noise as it peels away the top layer of polished and stained wood, and she likes it. She likes the way that something can be revealed, the way that the inner layers can be exposed.

"Why doesn't you father let anyone meet Azula?" she asks after a long silence.

Zuko is watching her quietly. When she looks up at him, he looks away and begins to play with his toys again. This time it is an earthbender against the firebender. Mai already knows who will win. "Father says Azula is a dis-ger-ace too."

"Do you believe him?"

Zuko pauses for a moment before resuming his play-fighting. "Father always tells the truth," he explains. "Father never lies. But I like Azula. She's nice to me. But he says I shouldn't play with her because I'm a winner and she's a loser."

The earthbender falls to the ground, making a small thump. "Do you love her?"

His nose wrinkles. "I guess," he says somewhat disgustedly. "Doesn't everyone love their sister?"

Mai shrugs. "I don't know. I don't have any."

"Why not?" The toys lie forgotten on the ground, for a moment. Just a moment.

She glances at them discreetly. "I don't know. I've never asked."

The prince watches her for a few long seconds, until she is disconcerted enough that a slow flush moves up her neck onto her cheeks, and then he turns away and picks up the toys. It is a fast and easy battle for the firebender. A smirk grows darkly on the young boy's face.

The earthbender is clenched is his right fist. He tells it, "You lose." And it burns.

* * *

8.

Mai doesn't have any friends when she goes to the Academy. She has spent most of her childhood so far learning and in seclusion and with the occasional visit to a rich noble family with an unmarried elder son, or to the palace. She's never spent any time with girls her age.

Her mother sends her a week early, hoping that her arrival will prove her ladylike essence. But Mai really isn't very ladylike at all. She knows all the moves and ploys, and she can look like a lady, but on the inside she isn't a lady. Ladies are obedient and they are always elegant and always so helpless. And they always need rescuing. But Mai doesn't like to be told what to do, and she usually rebels. She's elegant but she walks more like a panther than anything else, and she is in no way helpless. She doesn't like feeling helpless.

She steps off the boat at the harbor not far from the Academy and lands off the gangplank with a delicate plunk of her sturdy boots landing on the dirt. Lush forests surround the area in the distance, but for miles there is just grass. She can see the Academy, just a few minutes of a walk away.

The young girl doesn't usually get nervous. She's been irritated and anxious and rebellious, but she usually faces everything with a familiar bland apathy. It's easier that way, she thinks. She isn't sure if she's really right.

But as she enters the stark white hallways of the Academy, she wonders if things will be different here. Will people expect her to be a lady, like her mother does? Or will they expect her to be a warrior, like her father? That is when the butterfly-pandas appear in her stomach and they swarm and fly around and she can barely breathe.

"Hello," says a friendly-sounding voice from behind her. She turns slowly and hesitantly. It is a girl, one about her age, with long black hair and light hazel eyes. "My name is Jin. Who are you?"

She scuffs her toe awkwardly on the floor. "My name is Mai. I just got here."

Jin giggles. "I can see that. I got here early too. No one else is here yet. Would you like to be my friend?"

Mai is a little surprised at her request, but she keeps her face blank. "Sure," she replies automatically.

Jin grabs her hand, a large smile plastered on her face. "What do you want to do?" she asks as she drags Mai along the corridor. "First we should eat," she expounds, "but what about after that?"

"Um, I don't know," Mai mumbles. "I've never spent much time with other children before. Well, except for Prince Zuko, and he doesn't really count."

The other girl stops immediately in her tracks. Deliberately, she turns around, eyes large and wide. "You know Prince Zuko?" she whispers. "I've only met him once, but you've seen him more than that?"

The knife thrower shrugs. "Well, I guess. My mother knows his mother and so we play while they talk."

Her new friend gives her a contemplative look before smiling again. "That sounds like so much fun! I bet Prince Zuko is a great firebender. My mother and father told me so. Have you ever seen him bend?" Jin asks excitedly as she begins to walk for a second time. Her voice is a bit too high, a bit too eager.

"I've seen him bend before."

"How was it?"

Mai thinks back on the many times she has seen him firebend. Firebending is truly wasted on him. "It was… unique."

Jin sighs dreamily. "Prince Zuko is destined for greatness. Everyone says it, you know." With the implication of _so it must be true._

"Yeah," Mai says emptily. "He has a lot of potential."

The girl beams at her over her shoulder. "I know. I'm _so _jealous that you get to spend time with Prince Zuko." There is a glint of something in her eyes that Mai doesn't comprehend. "Hey, what do you think about exploring the school? I haven't been everywhere yet. I bet we could find some cool places! How does that sound?"

She gives her a long look. "That sounds fine, I guess."

"We're going to have so much fun!"

Jin is her only comrade for two more days, when two identical girls appear. Their lips are bit too thick and undefined and Jin calls them 'fish-lips one' and 'fish-lips two'. Mai thinks that nothing is really wrong with them, and simply makes affirmative noises when Jin mocks them. On the second night after they arrive, Mai gets to the cafeteria first and picks up her meal. The twins enter behind her. As they pick up their trays, Mai approaches them.

"Would you like to sit with us?" Mai asks politely.

They share a telling look. "Well, um, no thank you." One of them says. Mai isn't sure which one it is.

Her brows furrow slightly. "Is something wrong?" she asks curiously. The look they had shared was somewhat suspicious.

They both appear a little uncomfortable. The other girl says, in a bit of nervous voice, "Well, don't you have flea-lice?"

It takes a moment for her words to register in Mai's mind. "No," she says resoundingly. "Why do you think that?"

Their eyes dart behind her, to the entrance to the cafeteria. Mai looks back over her shoulder. Jin is entering the cafeteria, long hair braided and laying over one shoulder. When she sees her friend, she grins and waves excitedly.

Mai discovers that she doesn't like the other girls.

* * *

9.

She likes Ty Lee, because Ty Lee is different from all the girls. She isn't petty and she doesn't believe everything that her parents spoon-feed her. Mai doesn't always like the fact that Ty Lee is always trying to cheer her up and 'make her aura pinker', but she appreciates the girl's effort. Her smiles are bright and they are both outcasts in this little world of backstabbing and they are both just children, pawns in a game they never learned how to play.

The library becomes their sort-of refuge because not many of the other girls ever venture in there. It's dusty and dark and there are actually books. And books require work, and none of those girls has ever worked a day in their life. Most of them copy their schoolwork off of each other, never mind that all of their answers are very obviously wrong.

Mai is carefully copying down information on the Avatar Yangchen for a History of the Elements assignment and Ty Lee is sitting across from her and chattering on about something lightly as her swift, loopy characters appear on the page. The door opens, creaking lightly, and more light is let into the room as torches from the hallway paint the ground orange.

The knife thrower does not look, but Ty Lee's eyes are drawn to the small girl slipping through the doorway into the library. After a moment, they widen and her jaw drops a little.

"Mai!" she exclaims quietly.

"What, Ty Lee?" asks Mai in a subdued voice. The brush moves over paper in fast, curling movements.

Ty Lee shifts in her chair, craning her neck so that she can see the girl. "Did you see her?"

Mai looks up and brushes her bangs out of her eyes. "Who was I supposed to see?"

The acrobat rolls her eyes dramatically. "Princess Azula! She just came into the library!" Already the firebender had disappeared into the enormous bookshelves that turned the library into a maze.

"No, I didn't see her," Mai says. There is a strange feeling in her stomach.

Ty Lee's voice drops to a whisper. "I've never really met her, you know, but I've heard a lot about her. Have you ever met her?"

The other girl shakes her head noiselessly. "I've heard about her too," she offers quietly.

"My mother told me that her parents don't love her, but I don't believe that. All parents love their children, right?" When Mai doesn't answer, she presses. "Right?" Her eyes are intense and a serious brown.

"Of course," Mai demurs. Her brush lies on the table, drops of ink splashing onto paper.

Ty Lee nods her head self-righteously. "Right," she repeats, more assured. "But anyways, I've met her brother and he wasn't very nice to me. But Princess Azula seems a lot different than her brother. At least, I think so."

Mai says nothing, simply stares at the girl across from her. The acrobat is turned toward the direction where Azula disappeared. Her face is darkened by the lack of light; there are several candles on the table and the sun is making its inevitable descent into darkness. Her hair is long and bundled into a ponytail that is braided. She is Mai's only real friend here, and Mai says nothing about Zuko or Azula.

"Do you think we could be friends with her?" Ty Lee asks. When her friend doesn't respond, she looks back and smiles. Her hand deftly shoots out and tugs on one of Mai's pigtails, making her scowl.

"Think about it," Ty Lee advises, returning to her schoolwork.

Her hands finger a knife stashed in her belt as she thinks. Her head is turned and she unabashedly stares as Azula emerges from the rows of books and scrolls, an old tome under one arm. Her eyes are gold, like her brother's eyes, and her hair is raven-crow black. But her face is different. Zuko looks like his mother, which means that Azula must look like her father, Prince Ozai.

Mai sighs. She hates when things get complicated.

* * *

10.

The sun has only begun to truly rise into the sky, but Mai has been awake for hours. She had pushed herself out of bed while it was still dark, put on her shoes, and sneaked outside so that she could watch the yellow orb appear over the horizon. It rose in the east, where she could see the distant ocean, and it makes the sky look pink and purple and all these beautiful colors.

Once the sun is fully up, Mai rushes back to her room to change into her clothes for the day and to retrieve her materials. She then leaves for breakfast. Her feet make small thump-thumps on the wooden floors, and to her it is a satisfying sound. It reminds her of when the knife hits perfectly in the middle of the target. She smiles to herself, a small, secret smile.

The dining room is about half-full by now. She grabs a tray before looking around. Ty Lee isn't here yet, but that isn't too unusual. She's usually late for everything. Mai mentally shrugs before choosing their normal table, which is an empty one near the back of the room.

"Hi. Where is Ty Lee?" a voice asks from above her. It is Azula, who is normally here before her on most days.

Mai replies, "Hi. I don't know. She might have slept in."

Azula's brows furrow. "Oh. Should I go check on her?"

Mai shakes her head. "No. She'll get up on time. She always does."

The princess shrugs and sits down, the tray clanking as it hits the table. There is a long minute of silence where both of the girls sit and eat in perfect silence. Ty Lee is usually the one to break up the silence with her inane chattering, and it is moments like this where Mai misses her presence.

The pigtailed girl puts her chopsticks down on her plate once she is finished eating, and turns her head so she can look out of the open doors leading to the courtyard. There is a pond where several girls are enticing turtle-ducks to come closer.

"My brother loves turtle-ducks," Azula says randomly. "He tells me that mother loves them too. I think that's why he says he loves them, even though he doesn't visit them often."

A pregnant moment of silence passes before Mai says, "I've met your brother."

And Azula responds, "I know. He's told me about it."

Mai raises a brow as she looks back over at the little princess. Her eyes are serious and level, and she leans her head on her elbow awkwardly. Her hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, although it isn't very long and the ponytail only trails to the back of her neck. Her clothes are made from good, but plain, silk. She doesn't look like a princess. Not like her brother looks like a prince. "Really?" Mai wonders.

"Yes. Zuko tells me everything, mostly because he doesn't have anyone else to tell. He says that you're nice and that you listen to him and that you don't argue with him, like I do." Her smile is contagious and the tips of Mai's mouth curl. "He can be really mean, but I don't think he knows better."

The other girl thinks back to their encounters. "No," she agrees. "I don't think he means to be cruel."

Azula shrugs. Her shrug seems to say, _That's the way things are. There is nothing more that I can do_. Mai understands.

"Hello!" a loud, chirping voice says to the left of them. Ty Lee approaches, walking quickly. "Sorry I'm late! I overslept again!" She giggles and the two girls watch silently, holding back smiles of their own.

They push aside their trays and watch as Ty Lee practically devours her food. It's almost amusing, Mai thinks, and comforting too. Ty Lee and Azula are her friends now, and they aren't her friends like Zuko is her friend. They're a lot better than that.

The aura-reader slurps up the last of her soup before wiping any stray food off her face with her sleeve. Mai cringes. "What are you guys doing after classes today?" she asks. "Because I heard that there's a stray fox-panda in the forest and I was wondering if you guys wanted to come and look for it! I've never seen one before!" She beams and claps her hands together. "Isn't this exciting? So do you want to come or not?"

Azula looks uneasily between Mai and Ty Lee. _What is she supposed to do?_ is what Mai supposes she is thinking. Her mouth twitches uncontrollably. Mai watches for a moment before capitulating. "Sure."

Ty Lee squeals happily. "Yay! What about you, Azula?"

Gold meets gold for a moment, and then she turns away. "That sounds like fun. What do fox-pandas look like, anyways?" And Ty Lee chatters endlessly again.

In the background, the bell marking the end of breakfast begins to ring. The sound echoes throughout Mai and makes her body vibrate. She stands up and takes her tray back to the front of the room, Ty Lee and Azula in front of her. The acrobat is practically jumping with excitement, and Azula can't escape from her. She sends a desperate look back at Mai, who shakes her head with a smile. The princess crosses her eyes and sticks out her tongue.

Mai laughs loudly.


	8. every time you go away

**Title:** ab igne ignem capere  
**Chapter Title: **every time you go away  
**Author:** honestly_sangi / Sangi  
**Prompt:** 31_days ; every time you go away you take a piece of meat with you  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own A:TLA or anything contained within or related to it.  
**Word Count: **11522  
**Rating:** T  
**Author's Notes:** This is my idea of an alternate universe in which Azula was born first, is generally unloved, and turns out to be a kind-of hero.

I apologize that this came out a bit later than I had hoped.

*** There is a bit of a time-skip here, so keep in mind things have changed. I won't be directly showing you what has happened right now, but it is implied. Next chapter will show some of the past two years in the academy and the palace, but for now assume there is some discontinuity. ***

Actually, if you notice any discontinuity in general or in the past chapters please tell me because I will tell you whether it is intentional or a mistake! And if it is a mistake, I can hopefully fix it.

Also, some actual plot starts in this chapter.

Thank you again to everyone who is reading!

Ab igne ignem capere -  
To light a fire with fire  
- Cicero

_In another life…__I caught your eye…  
__I gripped your hand, and caught a glance of the next time 'round  
_- In Another Life, Vienna Teng

* * *

0.

Azula visits home one spring.

Nothing is different, yet nothing is the same.

* * *

1.

He is older now. The baby fat has melted a bit off of his cheeks, and his hair is tied in a formal top-knot. There is both innocence and cruelty in his eyes; sometimes there is one, sometimes the other, and sometimes they fight for dominance. She can never tell which one wins.

"You have done well," Ozai says. His voice is deep and the sound strikes her heart with white-hot pain and she absolutely hates herself. But there is nothing she can do because this is the path she has chosen. She made her choice.

The obvious arrogance on Zuko's is heart-breaking. He bows, and the movement is graceful for someone so young. "I am proud to bring honor to my family," his voice intones formally. It is a phrase he had memorized years ago.

Ursa watches as father and son share a secret glance. It is something she will never be part of. Her eyes are lowered but she can still see the permanent burn mark on her son's left ear – an unfortunate accident. The wood beneath her folded legs is smooth and she is wearing long robes but she swears that it is chafing against her raw skin.

Her husband's golden eyes watch their son carefully. "Your sister will be coming soon. I expect you will treat her well?"

Zuko smirks slowly. "I always treat Azula well, father."

"Very good. You are dismissed." Zuko stands and bows once more before leaving the room. Silence pervades the air, thickening it until she can barely breathe.

She unfolds her legs and pushes herself off the ground clumsily. The socks on her feet scratch against the wood as she turns away from the sidelong look her husband is giving her. "You will make him a monster," she says coldly. Her voice is dark but it shakes with both emotion and something she can't identify.

He stands and dusts the dirt off his pants. Prince Ozai shrugs nonchalantly. "Your idea of a monster and my idea of a monster do not exactly collide. He will be Fire Lord one day."

Ursa gasps and her eyes spin to examine his face. "Do not say such treacherous things," she says, her voice low. "You do not know who is listening."

His eyes simply watch.

She continues on, looking away from him. Her body faces him still and he traces the outline of her silhouette as the sun casts her shadow onto the ground. "Besides, Lu Ten will surely become Fire Lord after Iroh inherits the throne - "

"Lu Ten is dead."

Her mouth stops moving and simply stays open. Her eyes are wide and frozen with horror. This is not the plan. This is not the way things are supposed to go. _This will change everything. _"What do you mean?" she asks shakily. "We were not told this."

There is something in his expression. It is carefully guarded and she schools her face into practiced shock and surprise. "Lu Ten died almost two years ago, ambushed. They suspect that he found out who the leak was, and the leak killed him. It has been kept very quiet."

"But – but he was such a good soldier, such a good firebender - "

His laugh is the most horrid thing she has heard – it used to be beautiful, once. But that was a long time ago. "Does that truly mean anything? Does it really? If Iroh has no son, he cannot inherit the throne. He is not fit to be Fire Lord. He is losing Ba Sing Se."

Ursa shakes her head sadly. "He never had Ba Sing Se."

Ozai holds his hand up to his face, inspecting his fingernails. He tucks the other hand behind his back and although he is not looking at her she can feel his scrutiny. "He said the strangest thing – that the Phoenix was the leak. But no one even understood what he meant. They think it was the babbling of a dying person."

"That is what it sounds like," she agrees somewhat shakily.

He shrugs again. "We will see."

She rubs her arms with her hands, trying to bring warmth into her freezing body. There is no warmth inside of her anymore. Her flame burnt out long ago. "Do you mean to train him now? Zuko? Do you mean to make him into your idea of the perfect Fire Lord?"

"I have always been training him," he answers mysteriously. "He will not be perfect, but he will be the best. Under his rule we will conquer the world."

The world does not need to be conquered, she wants to say. The world will rise up against you one day, and you will be powerless against the many. But that day is not here yet. It is to come later.

He moves forward and looks into her eyes. She hates when he looks into her eyes because she can feel him looking into her soul, and she has too many secrets for that. She has much too many secrets for her to keep in the dark recesses, secrets that he can never ever know. He smiles at the tension in her body and brings his hand up to carefully trace the soft curve of her cheek. She does not move.

"I hate you," she says dispassionately. She closes her eyes and pretends that she is somewhere else.

His smile grows into a smirk and his fingers caress her neck. "I know."

* * *

2.

She sits on marble tile in a formal and elegant tea room. The low table in front of her is made of chiseled stone and a tray with tea and cups sits on top of it. There are no cushions. Steam rises slowly from the cups and the man across from her simply watches as she offers him the first cup of tea. After a long moment, he takes it. She picks up the other cup and holds it covetously in her hands.

"Your tea is impeccable, as always," comments her father-in-law serenely. His eyes are closed as he apparently savors the taste.

"Thank you," Ursa says graciously. She does not drink the tea.

His eyes open and they are a familiar gold. "I've always wondered," he muses, "why you have never involved yourself in the military affairs of your husband."

"It is not something I know much about," she returns steadily.

The man sets down his cup and rubs his chin ponderously. "Really? When I first inquired about you to your parents, they told me that you were very interested in military matters and that you had studied them thoroughly. Is that not true?" he asks lightly.

Ursa says nothing.

Something fundamental and unseen changes in his face. "Or perhaps," he says thoughtfully, "he does not wish for your assistance." She flinches slightly and he knows that he has her.

Azulon smirks. "Then he is a fool," he says with disdain, pausing to drink some more tea. "The Fire Lady Ilah was accomplished in all matters of war and her advice was often helpful and astute." His eyes glitter in the torchlight. "But your husband does not appreciate you, does he?"

"Prince Ozai is wise," she says in a firm voice. "He does not require my assistance." She has never offered him her assistance, but Ursa knows that he would never accept help from her.

"Hmm," he murmurs and says no more for a long while.

The cup still rests in her hands, the weight light and comforting, and the aroma wafts up to her nose. It smells wonderful, but she is not thirsty. She is never thirsty when she is in the presence of the Fire Lord. She shifts uncomfortably. The tiles are cold. Soldiers stand in blood-red armor near the entrances, guarding the doorways. Every movement is watched and analyzed.

"You look like your mother," Azulon says suddenly. Ursa's eyes meet his and there is a focus there that is alien to her.

Unnerved, she says, "Yes. Many people have told me that I resemble her."

He smiles and it is not cruel. It is simply a smile. "She was a brave yet peaceful woman. I learned much from her and her life."

"I was not aware," Ursa says slowly, "that you knew my mother so well." This is an unexpected turn of events, and she does not like surprises.

He re-warms the tea with his hands and holds the teapot out to her, offering more tea. The woman shakes her head. "Xifeng was an intelligent woman. She was a bit older than me, but she was the daughter of Avatar Roku and so I sought her out. She was everything that I could never be. She taught me about war and peace."

"War and peace?" Ursa echoes.

Azulon tilts his head back and finishes the rest of the tea. He sets his cup down on the stone table. Her fingers clench her own cup tightly. "If you are like everyone else," he says with a small and nasty sneer, "you assume that I continue this was because of the Fire Nation idea of supremacy. That is not so. I simply wanted to rule the world. I wanted power." _I wanted my father to bow down. I wanted him both to fear and be proud of me. I wanted to shove his words back in his face_.

"What changed that?" she asks quietly, eyes lowered.

He is no longer looking at her, but looking into the past. "One day, many years ago now, they brought me an earthbender that had been found on one of the outer islands, stirring up a rebellion." His mouth twitches once. "Most of the men and women that they brought in front of me overflowed with tangible fear, but this man of a boy was filled with both acceptance and with fight. He was a contradiction and I did not understand him."

She sets her cup down at last and leans forward slightly. "What did you do?" her voice is breathless with anticipation. She has never heard this story before; this is not something they teach at the Academy.

"I asked him why he had not turned himself in to the internment camps.

"_I would be dead_, he told me.

"_No_, I said to him. _You would only not be able to earthbend._"

The Fire Lord's smile is bittersweet. It is a familiar smile to Ursa. He continues, "He looked at me then, looked at me and looked straight into my eyes. His eyes were tired but inside of them I saw stubborn perseverance. They were a vibrant green and he was so utterly _alive._

"_If I could not bend, would that truly be living?_ he asked me.

"I paused for a moment. I finally responded, _No._ What would I be without my bending? What would the Fire Nation be without our bending? Would we still be better than everyone else, like everyone thought we were? What would we be without our power?

"Nothing. We would be nothing. It is a part of us now. It has always been a part of us.

"_We will never stop fighting,_ he told me in a serious tone. _Even when you have beaten us down, we will fight you. We will never give up. We will never surrender._

"And he made me realize something…" Azulon finishes quietly, "Why do I fight a war that I will never win?" His voice trails off and he stares into the distance. The soldiers still stand near the doorways, listening to the exchange.

Ursa looks at him and sees not a destroyer of nations, but a man who simply follows the mandate of destiny and is confused. He was once just a boy, she thinks. Once he was just a boy like my Zuko. "Why? Why do you still fight this war?"

His face twists from distant into a sharp and ugly. It happens in a moment and then the wrinkles appear again and he is resigned. "Because there is no other choice," he says wearily.

"What happened to the boy? To the earthbender?"

"I let him go."

She wonders at this. He had let him go? Back to the territories, to the islands, where he could raise a rebellion? Azulon watches as she keeps her face emotionless. "You are a smarter woman than you would like us all to believe, aren't you Ursa? Your manipulations take cunning. But I hope you know what you are doing because your actions have caused irreparable damage."

Her eyes harden and meet his angrily. He simply smiles peacefully. "Nothing much gets past me, daughter-in-law. And you forget that I knew your mother. You are just like her. I would even say that the two of you…" his smile grows wider, "rose from the ashes of your grandfather's mistakes."

She bows from her waist, trembling with effort. "If I may be excused, Fire Lord Azulon?"

"Of course."

Ursa stands and begins to walk away quickly, not even bowing a second time. His eyes track her as she moves to one of the doorways blocked by the guards. The Fire Lord makes an imperceptible movement and the guards move so that she may pass. As the woman walks through the doorway, she pauses for a moment.

"My Lord?" she asks, her voice carrying across the room. It echoes hauntingly.

He does not answer for a long minute; at last, "Lady Ursa?"

"There is always a choice." She does not turn back but walks out of the room. The doors shut behind her.

He watches contemplatively. "Perhaps," he murmurs, "for you."

* * *

3.

Ozai watches his daughter with hooded eyes. She sits on the ground across from him, legs folded under her knees and her head bent low. She is different now. There is something inside of her that he did not like. His princess does not flinch when he speaks coolly and she does not crave his attention anymore.

Azula is different now.

He fingers the dagger in his belt and smirks cruelly. "I have received satisfactory reports from your instructors. You have done well, but there is yet room for improvement."

She says nothing. Her body does not move; it lies immobile, stone.

"Don't you agree?"

Quietly: "Yes, my Lord."

His brows furrow and his face twists in an ugly way. Where is the meek child that would cower at the mere hint of his displeasure? Where has she gone? Ozai does not like change.

His daughter's eyes are the same gold, but they are tempered where they had once been set with curiosity. But he knows her well enough to know that the fire within her is still burning brightly; she is too much like her father to be any different. He had once been like her – idealistic and full of hope. And his hope had been mercilessly crushed. Ozai had somewhat hoped to save her that, but he has failed. Oh well. He thinks she will be better this way.

Azula sits in front of him and does not move. "I have also been informed of your firebending. Perhaps you would like to… demonstrate your abilities?"

Her head rises slowly and her eyes meet his. There is a spark of defiance there and for a moment he is almost proud.

She will truly be his best work yet.

The princess tilts her small head to the side; a tinkling sound follows as the bells hanging on her hairpin move. "We should move to a more open area," she suggests calmly. Inside she is shaking but he can't tell, and her fists are clenched tightly next to her thighs.

Her father stands slowly and waits for her to rise and bow before moving to the exiting doors and out toward the courtyard. Behind them a guard follows, a sword at his belt and his fingers twitching. Ozai steps out into the sun and covers his eyes with his hand; it is high in the sky, almost midday. Azula follows behind him, slipping on a pair of shoes left inconspicuously by the doorway.

In the middle of the green courtyard lies an empty space of dirt and rock. She makes her way toward it and bows again to Prince Ozai before settling into an open stance, her feet spread wide on the ground and her hands held out before her, open to the sky.

A flash of light and she is turning, almost faster than he can see, and there are blue sparks flying the air around her. The flame coming out of her hands is the icy white-blue of the hottest fire and she is practically dancing as she spins and twists. Her hands shoot out as if aiming precisely at targets and as far as Ozai can tell she is right on point.

Azula finishes with a low kick that spurts out a twirling flame before sliding into a bow, hands folded respectfully in front of her. He watches for a moment; her chest rises heavily as she breathes in and out. There has always been too much patience in her, he wonders, and she is too much like my brother. He wishes she was more like him.

"Sufficient," he says at last. She rises from her bow, golden eyes dark and somewhat shadowed. "At least the instructors at the Academy have not failed in teaching you the basics, yes?"

Her hands fall to her sides and then wind around to connect behind her. Her nod is almost imperceptible, and he smiles at her latent stubbornness. Her golden robes almost blend into the bleakness of the ground around her, and she does not look away when his eyes move to meet hers. "What has changed you, daughter?" he asks her, still smiling. He moves closer so that he can stare down at her.

For a long moment she says nothing. "At the Academy," she finally says, "they told me things about the Royal Family I did not know. And they told me that everyone knew I was the unloved child. Well, everyone but me, I guess."

Ozai shrugs and closes his eyes for a moment; the prince feels like she can see the window into his soul. "What is your point, Princess Azula?"

She shifts back several steps and behind her back her hands twist together nervously; she swallows and he does not notice. "Is it true?" she whispers on a voiceless breath.

Her father's eyes are shaded and the sun shining brightly in the sky makes it difficult to clearly see any of his features. He watches her and raises an eyebrow. "Is what true?" he mocks. She thinks that he takes pleasure in the act.

"Do you and mother not love me?"

"Does it truly matter?" he asks.

She scuffs her foot against the ground. The dirt leaves brown dust on the stark black. "I'd like to think so," Azula says.

Her eyes are gold and her chin is so utterly his in that moment that he can barely stand to look at her. Ozai's upper lip curls in disgust; she is not truly his daughter. She will never truly be his daughter, because he lost that chance long ago and he gave it up willingly. And the prince does not regret his choice because he has no regrets.

She will be his masterpiece, if she lives, but never his daughter.

"No," he says coldly. "What we feel for you is not love."

He expects anger, but not this: her eyes narrow and sparks fly out of her right hand. They land on the silk of her pants and she does not notice as they singe the skin of her upper thigh, burning through the material. "Maybe," she says in a voice that could have never belonged to Azula before, "I don't want to be loved by you. You love Zuko, and I saw what you did to him."

"Oh?" he asks, with humor in his voice. "What have I done to your brother?"

"You killed him," she says simply.

He laughs and the sound dies quickly in the air. "He is still alive, I assure you."

It is the girl's turn to shrug. "Does it matter? You killed him on the inside."

"I have cleansed him of weakness. You would not understand."

Azula watches him carefully. "I guess not," she says.

Her eyes follow him as he turns and walks away, not even waiting for a bow from her to show obedience. Inwardly she snorts. At first, what the girls said hadn't bothered her. But their words had struck a chord inside of her. And now she knows that they told the truth; perhaps the ignorant know the truth better than the educated.

_I hate you, _Azula thinks at his back as he walks away. _I hate you. _

* * *

4.

In the sunlight, her hair shines a light brown. It catches on the strands, highlighting the gold, shimmering glitter that has fallen off of the intricate barrette that holds back her bangs. Next to her, Baozhai brushes back the rest of her hair carefully and secures it with smaller and more inconspicuous pins. The older girl smiles wistfully as she finishes.

Baozhai loves her sister, and she knows Ty Lee loves her. But love can only do so much.

"You look beautiful, Ty Lee," she says, setting the brush down on the wooden walkway. They sit outside, overlooking a green, green courtyard. The trees are in bloom are small red and orange flowers float down as a breeze passes by.

Ty Lee looks up. Her eyes are shadowed by a light application of kohl, and the same gold glitter is scattered across the apples of her cheeks. "Thank you, Baozhai."

Baozhai shifts so that she is looking at the tinkling fountain in the middle of the grass. Her sister cannot see her face; the roof of the walkway hides it in its shadows. "Mother told me that you are accompanying her to the palace today."

"Yes. It is kind of mother to take me to the palace." Ty Lee watches her sister carefully.

The older girl makes an hmm noise in her throat and her fingers clench spasmodically for a few moments before her muscles relax. Out of the corner of her eyes she can see Ty Lee, the youngest sister, the youngest daughter, dressed in flamboyant golden robes. A black and blue dragon climbs up the side of the silk; the head snakes across her stomach and ends beneath her neck. Its mouth is open and flames engulf the collar. "Why do you think mother takes you to the palace while she meets with the Lady Ursa?"

Ty Lee's brown eyes look over at her; she can feel the heat of her stare against her face like she can feel the sun on her skin. After a moment she says, "I do not know."

Inside, Baozhai laughs. Next month is her marriage; she is marrying the son of a palace official. A very high-ranking palace official who routinely checks the mail, as part of his job, coming in both from the soldiers positioned in the Earth Kingdom and the generals who command them.

"Do you not think that mother takes you to show you off to the Lady Ursa when you meet her sometimes?"

Sounds of babbling water echo faintly against cobblestone in the background. Several birds chirp above; the sun rises interminably in the sky and wind shakes the trees and pushes her bangs back into her face. Ty Lee carefully tucks them back into the barrette. "I do not know," she says again.

Baozhai shrugs. "Very well then." But she knows that Ty Lee understands, and now she understands also. Her mother is more conniving than she had originally thought. "Once, a long time ago now, you told mother and father that you wanted to join the circus. Is this still true?"

"Yes," the acrobat returns steadily. Her eyes glance to the side as movement catches her eye; Mingzhu is ambling down the walkway across from them. She does not look at them and they do not look at her. "I still want to join the circus."

"Why?" Baozhai wishes to know. "Why is it that you wish to join the circus?"

Ty Lee thinks for a moment. "I guess," she begins, "that I just want to be free."

Baozhai's mouth twists in an ugly way and there is darkness in her eyes. "Freedom is only an illusion, sister."

"What do you mean?"

The older girl snorts. "Are we ever truly free? We owe allegiance to our families and to our nation. We must only hope that their ambitions intersect."

Idly, Ty Lee puts her hands behind her and leans back on her palms. She closes her eyes and lets the sun warm her. "I think we can be free," she says.

"What would you do if you were free?" Baozhai asks her little sister.

"I would join the circus."

"You would then owe allegiance to the circus. We are never truly free, Ty Lee. Our entire lives we have followed the orders of others around us – our family, our nation. But if we were ever truly free, we would not know what to do with ourselves. So instead we pretend that we could be free. In this way we maintain the illusion of choice."

Ty Lee opens one eye to look over at her older sister. They look almost exactly the same – Baozhai's nose is a smidge straighter, a little bit longer, and her hair frames her face in slightly darker tones. "I don't understand," Ty Lee says before closing her eyes again.

Her sister's smile is slightly bittersweet. "I know," she says. "That's okay. One day you'll get it."

The acrobat shrugs effortlessly. The silk of her clothing moves with her, wrinkling slightly. Somewhere in the deep reaches of the house, they can hear their mother calling out Ty Lee's name. Her voice is shrill and Baozhai chuckles darkly at the sound. "Go," she says to her sister. "Mother is calling." _Mother is always calling._

Ty Lee bows her head slightly as she stands up. She is really only a child, and Baozhai is really only a girl, but they live in a world where they cannot remain children for long. The makeup on her face and the weight of her clothes changes the way she appears; she was once a vulnerable child that chewed on wood and now she seems to be their mother's perfect daughter. Baozhai is too smart to believe everything she sees. Her sister knows more than she lets on and she is not stupid either. She is a not-child – a little girl who knows that her fate may not rest in her own hands. A little girl disillusioned.

Yet she still smiles at her older sister. It is the same bright smile as always, and her eyes light up magnificently and she changes from young almost-princess to the little sister to whom she had once read bedtime fairy tales. "Thank you for the advice, Baozhai." She turns to walk away, the stark white of her socks contrasting against the dark wood of the floor.

"I only hope that one day you will understand," Baozhai murmurs. "And forgive me."

But Ty Lee is already gone.

* * *

5.

The house is quiet when she enters. Several servants walk through the doors behind her, carrying her chests full of clothes and scrolls and books. She was not expecting a loud welcome, but was it too much for her to ask for her parents to greet her at the door? Mai guesses so.

She lingeringly fingers the dagger stowed in her belt as she looks around the hallway; everything is in perfect order, as always, with the way her mother is. But there is more dust than necessary and she finds herself wondering what has changed. A new painting hangs on the wall; it is of a fire-bird, blazing bright red, with the character for life in the upper left corner.

A maid with dark black hair and dull brown eyes rushes by. Mai catches her sleeve with her hand, and the girl turns around to look at her. There is a muted look in her eyes. "Where is my father?" she asks. The girl bows before motion down the hall to where her father's study is. "Thank you." The mousy servant skitters away.

The white socks on her feet scratch against the unpolished floor. The door to her father's study is unrepentantly closed. Carefully and quietly, she slides it open.

The room is much as she left it; her father's low desk sits at one end and at the other there are shelves filled with scrolls and old tomes. A paper-covered window is on the opposite wall, in the center, and a tall table holding several bonsai lies beneath it.

Her father sits in his chair, his elbows resting on his desk and his hands holding up his head, bent down and staring at nothing. Mai raises an eyebrow and moves to sit in the chair across from him. "Hello, father," she greets. He says nothing in return and she relaxes into the chair, pulling out a knife and twirling it on her finger.

Finally his head rises and she wishes that she had not come for spring break. His eyes are desolate and lost, and he is not the man that she once knew. He is a haunted man and he is different. "Mai," he says hoarsely. "You are home."

"Yes," she says simply. The knife lays flat in her hand and it pricks the sensitive skin of her palm.

"Have you…" his voice breaks on a high note, "seen your mother yet?"

Mai shakes her head slowly. "No," she responds. "I have not seen mother yet."

He groans and it is the sound of a desperate man. "You must talk to your mother, Mai. You must make her see reason. You are the most reasonable of all of us, aren't you?" His hands move to cover his face and shield his agony.

She shifts in her chair. "What am I to talk to her about?"

He looks up at her and his broken eyes meet hers. Her mouth is dry and she futilely tries to swallow. "Your mother is pregnant."

For a moment the world is tilted on its axis.

The knife-thrower is dazed and confused and she desperately hopes that this is all an elaborate yet horrible practical joke, something like Ty Lee would do. "What do you mean?" she asks hopelessly. "You both told me that it would be impossible for mother to conceive again."

Her father makes an awful sound in the deep of his chest and shivers run down her spine. "Yes, that is true. And yet the impossible – or so she told me – has happened."

"Or so she told you?" Mai echoes weakly.

He runs his hands through his unkempt hair. "Your mother told me that the healer informed her that it would be impossible for her to carry another child. But that is not true, as she is now pregnant."

Mai shakes her head. "What can I tell her?"

"Tell her to call for the healer. There are… ways, ways that this can be taken care of."

Her voice is solemn and a bit unsure at the same time. "You would kill your unborn child?"

His mouth twists in a hideous way. "My unborn child will likely kill her."

They sit in silence for a long moment, and her father buries his head in his hands again. Every few seconds a haunted groan escapes from his body, and Mai simply stares at the wall above his head. A familiar painting sits there: the one that had once inhabited the hallway. A silent lake sits there, a sailboat with translucent red sails on the water. A storm brews in the faint background. Across the bottom a phrase is written: determination and perseverance.

"We both know," the girl says at last, "that I can say nothing to her that will change her mind. Mother is not fickle."

He says nothing and she pats his head as his body shakes. "I'm sorry," she whispers before leaving the room.

The door shuts resoundingly behind her and she turns to the left and follows the hallway as it rounds a corner. She steps through a door into the central courtyard and follows the raised wooden walkway that connects it to the house for a minute before she comes to the doors that open into her mother's apartments.

Quietly, she slides them open and slips into the main room. She is instantly assailed by the scent of incense that barely covers up the smell of a sickroom. Mai takes in deep breaths through her mouth and makes her way to the bedroom. The aroma only gets stronger as she approaches the bed. Servants move out of her way, some arranging pillows and blankets.

Her mother lies on the bed. Her body looks weak and frail and she is so, so pale. Mai does not favor her mother but when she looks like this she can do little but pity her – a woman who has so deluded herself into an almost-sure death. Her hair surrounds her face in a dark halo against the silver and white sheets. Her mouth is open slightly and her lips are colorless.

She shifts as Mai leans over the side of the bed, resting her arm on it to inspect her mother. She is a tall girl for her age and climbs deftly onto the bed. Her eyes open and they are a still-blazing gold, although they are clouded with maybe-pain and maybe-regret. "Mai?" she asks in a feeble voice.

Mai settles against the pillows on the headboard next to her mother. Carefully, she brushes several stray locks of her out of her mother's face. She smiles wryly.

"Hello, mother."

* * *

6.

Blue, blue water laps at the bow of the ship. Giant blocks of ice create a channel that the iron machine maneuvers through carefully, and the sky is bright with white light streaming from the sun. The sun reflects off of the massive icebergs and almost blinds the deckhands on the ship. The blood-red of the soldier's armor glints dangerously.

Commander Zhao watches as the waves rock the ship gently. His face is serious and tense with anticipation; his large hands are clasped tightly behind his back.

"Commander," the navigator says from behind him, "we should arrive soon, if the coordinates you received are correct."

His mouth twists slightly. "They are correct. I trust my source."

The navigator shrugs. "If you are sure, Commander." He bows before retreating.

_I am sure,_ he thinks. _I must be sure because everything depends on me now._

Slowly, a large expanse of white emerges in the distance. Smoke fills his nostrils as they wind changes, blowing south. It is a familiar smell, and the stream of it blows with the wind over the ice-land, dirtying the white purity. There is nothing but white, white, white and the astounding blue of the water. The sun is relentless but it is freezing cold and he idly wonders how.

"Have you ever seen anything like it?" one man asks another.

"No," the second man murmurs.

No, indeed.

The ship makes a clanking noise and there is a loud crunch as they finally hit the ice. Several hooks are thrown over as they secure the vessel to the makeshift dock. Zhao watches passively, knowing that this is his true duty. This is the way that things have to be to make the world right again – to right all the wrongs that have been committed in the name of war and conquest. Committed in the name of a war that can never be won - and now it never will.

"Lower the gangplank," he orders loudly. Several men bow and move below deck. He turns to follow them, and his boots make a deep _clank clank clank _as they trod across the metal of the ship. He swiftly enters through the doorway, slipping by several guards who watch mutedly as the crew finishes anchoring the ship.

Two men nervously lower the gangplank as he watches. It crashes onto the ice with a flurry of slush and snow. In the coldness ahead there is a small village, its dwellings carved from ice. There are small figures of people that approach hurriedly as he slowly makes his way down the gangplank. He reaches the bottom as a young boy comes into sight. His body is short and there is war-paint on his face, but he is too young to be a warrior.

Zhao smiles in a way that does not befit him. As the boy gets closer, he can see the bright blue of his eyes and the coarse fur and cotton of his clothes. "Hello," he calls out, and his voice echoes across the distance. "I come to speak with your leader."

The boy stops several feet away from him, panting but holding up a weapon with his right hand. "You have to get through me first," he says.

The commander laughs. "What is your name, boy?" he asks, not unkindly.

"My name is Sokka," the boy says. "I am a warrior of the Southern Water Tribe."

His smile turns crooked. "And are you the leader of this village, Sokka, warrior of the Southern Water Tribe?"

Sokka shakes his head. His head is shaved partially, and the rest is up in a simple knot at the back of his skull. "No. My father is, but he isn't here now, so it's my job to protect the village."

"Sokka!" a woman's voice calls out from the distance. "Sokka!"

It is an older woman, her face wrinkled with both age and wisdom. There is a familiar sense of knowledge in her watchful eyes, and he knows immediately that this is the woman that he is looking for. As she draws near, he can see a girl, younger than the boy but perhaps about six or so, hiding behind the furs of her skirts.

Zhao bows reverently. "Are you by chance the Lady of the Waves?"

Her blue eyes look over his body for a long moment. "Perhaps," she answers at last. "Are you the messenger from the Phoenix?"

He bows again, shallower this time. "Yes." By now the boy Sokka has put his weapon back in his belt and is watching the exchange, fascinated. In the village in the distance there is frenzied movement - perhaps the people preparing for an attack.

But there will be no attack today.

The old woman beckons him with her glove-covered hand. "Follow me," she says. A head peeks out from behind her legs before running back to the village, the boy behind her. The woman shakes her head before leading him across the ice to her home. As he moves forward to follow her, the men that had followed him from the ship shift to come with him; he holds up one hand and shakes his head. They stop moving and lean back on their heels, watching him and his companion.

Women and children are the only people in the village. They stand in doorways, hiding behind the furs that make their doors, peeking out through window curtains at the strange sight of a Fire Nation commander. _What is he doing here?_ they wonder.

His guide pulls back the fur covering on the doorway to one house, and motions him in. The doorway is small and he bends his body so that he may enter. Zhao's gold eyes look around the room, so unfamiliar and tiny compared to his home in the Fire Nation. The girl with long brown hair and blue eyes is staring at him over the edge of the table; the table is tall and she is short.

"My name is Kanna," says the old woman as she comes to sit down at the table. The furniture is also made of ice, and he wonders how they stay warm enough to survive. "Sit, please."

Zhao inclines his head and sits across from her. "Thank you," he says.

Kanna shrugs. "Do you have the message?" she asks.

He puts his hand inside his coat and pulls out a scroll, sealed in red wax with the emblem of a phoenix. "Here," he offers his hand out to her and she grabs at it greedily, opening and reading it with speed. Once she finishes, her crafty eyes come up to meet his.

"Hmm," she muses. "Katara, please bring the maps of your father's. They are on his desk." The girl darts out of the room in a flash of movement, through a side door that he had not previously noticed.

"Is your operative in place?" he asks once she is gone.

"Yes," Kanna answers. "She left several months ago for the Northern Water Tribe, and from there will travel to the Fire Nation with her disguise."

Zhao nods his head slowly. "Good," he says. "Very good."

Katara, the blue-eyed and innocent-looking girl, quickly enters into the room and stands on tip-toes to dump an armful of large scrolls onto the table. She watches silently as he opens one – a detailed map of Ba Sing Se. The others contain maps of other major cities. They will come in handy, he thinks as he rolls the scroll up and ties it closed.

"Thank you," he says with true gratitude. "You do not know what this has given us."

Kanna shrugs. "Do you think this will work?" she asks bluntly.

Zhao's eyes are bleak. "Can we afford for it to fail?"

* * *

7.

"I thought I told you to leave the last time you were here." Zuko is facing away from her in his room, looking out the open doors to the courtyard where their mother sits feeding the turtle-ducks. The sun shines outside, and a breeze blows through the doors to ruffle her hair. His eyes are focused outside, but she knows from experience that he is aware of every move that she makes.

Azula shrugs lightly. "I wanted to come and see you."

He turns and his eyes catch hers. They are both the same shade of gold, but there is something behind his that changes the look from normal to judgmental. Her little brother, once her fan and her friend, has changed so much from the days when they used to play on the nursery floor.

The little princess, who is really no longer little, has not been home in what seems like a million years.

She can barely remember the halls and pathways – even the way to the room that she slept in as a child. Now she has her own room, much smaller and much plainer than her brother's apartments. Every time there was a break and the children went home to visit their families, a letter would arrive for the ruling board of the Academy, asking that she may stay. She has spent two years without seeing the faces of her family or receiving news from them.

His eyes are so piercing that Azula has to focus on not looking away from him. After several long and tense moments, he snorts and looks back, leaning against the wood of the doorway.

"I'm your sister, Zuko," she says gently. "Don't you remember?"

She moves to stand next to him, at the other end of the doorway. "You're my sister," he acknowledges, voice empty. "But now that father has warned me about you and mother…"

Outside, the Lady Ursa breaks up several pieces of bread and throws the crumbs and bits into the water. From all sides the turtle ducks approach, hurriedly swimming to reach the food. There is a small smile on her face; she does not smile often. Zuko watches with a dispassionate eye, and Azula watches him. A muscle in his cheek twitches as their mother laughs – one of the turtle ducks had nibbled on her finger playfully.

"Why are you so hateful?" she asks quietly. The words carry across the short distance, but he does not react. "What has father done to you?"

He moves his arm in a slashing motion and laughs derisively. His eyes close and the look on his face is cruel, and somewhere deep deep inside Azula feels a stab of white-hot pain. It is almost déjà vu. "What has father done to me? What has _he _done?" He shakes his head and turns to look at her. There is hatred, uncertain yet unwavering, in his eyes. "Father has done nothing to me. He has only told me the truth about you."

Azula shifts her legs and folds her arms across her chest. "Me?" she asks innocently. Because although she loves her little brother, she hates her father. She has spent her entire life loving and protecting her brother, but now he is broken and she cannot fix him. Her father has broken everything, and he has done it intentionally.

She does not yet understand why, but one day she will.

Two years of exile has made her determined and full of bitterness. The dreams she once possessed, the childhood illusions that sustained her, are now gone and she finds herself wondering why she wanted to come back to the palace. Azula is different now, and it is a pity that only her father has noticed. She is also the same, though, in a way that she doesn't comprehend. On the inside she is the same little girl, full of love and hope and uncrushed dreams. But on the outside she is a princess exiled.

Zuko's eyes harden and narrow into slits. His eyes, slimmer than hers and almost feminine in appearance, are supposed to look their mother's. Azula hasn't been close enough to her mother in so long that she doesn't make the connection. "Father told me," he says, "about the ways of women: how they lie to make you love them, then crush their hearts in their hands. I know about you and mother. I know that you always lie. You always lie."

She's an intelligent child, but she's still really just a girl. "I always lie?" she muses out loud.

He nods angrily, but it is the cold, stiff anger of a child scorned. "Always," he asserts.

Azula shrugs nonchalantly. "Well," she says, "I bet I'm a better firebender than you."

Steam rolls angrily from his nose. His arms cross over his chest and he pushes off the wall. "You are not," he argues childishly.

She pushes back a smile. "I am," she says. "I can firebend much better than you can."

Zuko's face morphs into a horrible visage. His hands begin to spark yellow. "I'll fight you," he says in a low voice.

His sister appears to think for a moment before smirking very lightly. "Bring it," she says.

In a flash of a moment, fire lashes out at her and embers light the paper of the walls on fire. She can hear the servants start to scream as she pushes backwards, almost-falling into the courtyard, her feet skipping steps. She lands with a thump and kicks out her foot, sending a bright-blue blast at Zuko. He dodges to the left and pushes more fire at her and she twists away at the last moment.

The flames go past her face with a whoosh, and they are a million shades of beautiful.

And they're dancing again; he pushes and she pulls, like they are the moon and the ocean. But yet they do not work in tandem, rather against each other. They are two halves of a whole.

The little prince's eyes narrow and he is breathing heavily; Azula evaluates him carefully, standing completely still, hands raised protectively. "Give it up, little brother," she half-taunts. "You'll never win."

His nostrils flare and he pushes forward again and again as she simply moves back, feet squelching in the soft green of the grass. She had pulled her socks off earlier and when they are finished she is sure her feet will be forever stained green.

She watches for the sign; Azula falls when Zuko pushes his hand forward. Her back lands on the ground and she stares emptily up at the sky, taking care to breathe heavily. After several moments of waiting her brother is standing above her, looking cruelly victorious. He viciously kicks her side and she winces slightly at the pain.

"I told you," Zuko says. "I'm the best. I'm always the best." He laughs, a ghastly laugh, and runs off back to the palace. The sound of his laughter echoes in the air.

The princess sits up with effort. The servants are cleaning up the doors to his rooms, covered in black soot and smoke. Their faces are blackened also. Her smile is somewhat bitter as she pushes off the ground to stand up. The sky is endless above her and the ground is firm beneath her, but everything is different than it once was, the last time she had been here.

The grass rustles as someone approaches from behind her. "Why did you let him win?" a gentle voice asks.

Azula half-turns; it is the Lady Ursa. She does not bow but turns back around and faces the house again. She misses the look of hurt that flashes across her mother's face. "Once Zuko tells Lord Ozai how he won in a firebending match against me, he'll forget about me for a while. It's a lot easier when he forgets about me."

She walks away slowly, taking a sharp left, toward the area where her room is; her room is far from the royal apartments where the rest of the family stays.

Ursa watches her go, eyes filled with tangible sadness and misery.

"I've never forgotten you," she promises softly, though her daughter is too far away to hear it. "I will never forget you."

* * *

8.

There is fire in the air.

It is swelteringly hot and humid as the fire mixes with the sweat and heat of the day; there are rainclouds hanging low and heavy in the sky, obscuring the sun. It is perhaps not the best day for a battle, but there was little choice in the matter. There is hardly ever any choice in the matter, the General thinks as he looks down from the outer wall of Ba Sing Se. The fields outside the inner city are burning; burning, burning, burning to the ground.

Ash smears his cheek black but he does not move his hand, simply leaves it there, like war paint on his skin.

A hole lies half a mile down in the outer wall and from it his soldiers pour through, wearing red armor and blasting fire into the faces of the enemy. They cry out as they die, and it is a horrible kind of death wail that he wishes he doesn't have to hear. Fire eats them alive, crawling up their skin. Even more of them die from inhaling the smoke that heavily permeates the battlefield.

A man comes to stand next to him, also looking down at the battle. "Your expertise has won us this battle, General Iroh," he says.

Iroh's eyes glance over to look at the commander from the corner of his eyes. "Do not rejoice yet, Commander Liang," he warns. "We have not yet won this battle."

Commander Liang shrugs lightly. "We are close enough. All our years of toil will be worth it. Once Ba Sing Se falls, the world is ours."

Ours? Iroh wonders what that means. Does he mean the Fire Nation's? Because nothing owned in the Fire Nation is truly owned; all of it is owned by the Fire Lord. He is the master and they are simply his puppets.

Iroh knows how his father feels about war, yet he still follows his orders. He is nothing more than a shadow man. Or is he? He inwardly chuckles at that.

The man watches his General carefully before bowing and moving away. Iroh notices him leave, but says nothing. Since the death of his son – almost years ago now – they have doubted him and his ability to carry through on this job. If anything, Lu Ten's death had only made him more determined to see this through to the end.

Now that victory is within sight, he is ever more committed to his goal.

For his son, he wants Ba Sing Se to bow to him in obeisance. It no longer matters what his father wants, or whatever other loyalties he may have. The only thing that matters is the traitor who went past order and killed his son. Lu Ten had only been doing his job, and had foolishly fallen into the trap. Iroh knows what his orders are, and he is only lucky that they coincide with what he wants.

Golden eyes map the land. It will take several days before they can proceed to the inner wall, he thinks.

And so the Dragon of the West waits.

…

He wakes in the middle of night to the thick smell of smoke in the air. It is heavy and his deep breaths have dragged it into his lungs. With a cough, he sits up in bed before pushing back the covers and pulling on his robes quickly. He opens the flaps to the tent in a moment, pushing them aside and stepping out into the darkness.

There is fire in the air.

Smoke curls up from the tents, rising in thick waves. With a deep and smoke-filled breath, he warms the air around him, causing the smoke to rise higher in the air. Several yards near him clear of smoke and he can make out the dim figures of firebenders blasting flames at an unknown attacker, an unknown enemy.

His mouth sets in a grim line. This was not supposed to happen.

"General Iroh!" a voice cries out from behind him. He turns and recognizes the voice. It is Commander Liang. The man's face is smeared and he wheezes, a horrible sound coming from his chest. "Sir, we need to leave!"

"What?" Iroh demands angrily. "We cannot leave the camp like this!"

Commander Liang clutches desperately to the sleeve of his robe. "Please, sir," he begs, "we must leave. We are outnumbered by… them. We must leave, General Iroh!"

Iroh is torn. In the distance fire flashes and clears some smoke; a red-armored man fights with a mysterious figure clad in all green; his face looks as if it is covered by a mask and the earth moves at his will.

The strange man looks toward Iroh, and the smoke closes in on his image again.

Commander Liang drags him away from the battle, through the many tents set up in their camp outside the outer wall. They had been ambushed in the night, and now he is being led away by one of his most foolish commanders. Fools leading fools, is that what they say? His desperate, sad expression is tinged with loss.

They turn a corner near the edge of the tents and move toward the flat expanse before they reach the lake and ferry, and Iroh runs in front of Commander Liang, his large body running surprisingly fast.

Earth moves in front of them, forming a large wall. Iroh turns to the side; another wall is thrown up. Liang makes a horrible groaning noise in his throat, and it echoes dully against the earth. They are cornered between two gigantic blocks of solid earth.

The body of a man appears from the smoke in front of them, coming from the only direction that is open. He is garbed in green, like the other man, and his face is mostly covered by a mask; his eyes are uncovered and they are a deep green.

"General Iroh?" he asks as if he is not expecting an answer.

Iroh says nothing.

A thump from behind him signals Liang's body falling to the ground.

The man moves forward. "We've been waiting for you," he says.

A flash of green and brown and -

- darkness.

* * *

9.

The soft folds of a cloak are pulled up around her face, which is not unusual here in the palace. Most messengers wear dark cloaks that meld their face into obscurity. She's a bit small for a messenger, but the princess knows that most people will not notice her size, simply her uniform. Such is the way of the palace.

Golden eyes are trained on the ground beneath her feet, watching as the small red slippers take step after step on the marble of the main palace hallways. She steps around a maid who continues to walk past, ignorant of the princess slipping through their fingers.

She rounds a corner and looks up. Two other small, cloaked figures await her at the end of the hallway. Their faces are shadowed but Azula knows who they are. As she approaches, they push back the hoods of their cloaks and their faces are revealed. She walks faster and pushes back her hood, revealing her shoulder-length hair, tied back in a low ponytail. There is no golden adornment in her hair; she is not the heir, not even a loved daughter.

Mai and Ty Lee are the same as always, but different also. Mai's hair is a bit longer, still put up in pigtails, and there is weariness in her face that looks strange on a young girl. There are lines of sleeplessness under her eyes and her hands are tucked carefully beneath her robes. Ty Lee's eyes are still cheerful, but there is a wariness in them that has been growing for several months. Her long hair is pulled back into an intricate style emphasized with several ivory pins.

Her last step echoes hauntingly and the sound hangs in the air for several moments before crashing down around them.

Ty Lee smiles brightly. "It took you long enough!" she says in a hushed yet happy voice. "We've been waiting here forever. Right, Mai?"

Mai simply shrugs lightly, hiding a yawn behind her hand. "Sure," she says in a bored tone.

Azula smiles lightly. These two girls, her only friends, have been her anchor. They have reassured her and watched her grow, as she has done for them. There are a thousand worlds between them, yet their hands all seem to touch through the looking glass.

"Did you two get here okay?" she asks.

Ty Lee shrugs as she looks over to the red curtain to her right. "It's easy to slip away," she explains. "No one ever notices."

The princess makes an affirmative noise in the back of her throat. She, of all people, knows how easy it is to fade into the background. The acrobat leans over and touches the velvet of the curtains wondrously. "What's behind here anyways?" she asks. Mai looks at the red drapes quietly and Azula shifts from foot to foot.

"It's one of the back entrances to Fire Lord Azulon's throne room," she answers after a long moment.

Ty Lee pauses in her movements and looks over to stare at Azula, her mouth dropping open slightly. Mai also looks somewhat surprised; the corners of her mouth are slack and there is astonishment in her eyes. "You had us meet right next to your grandfather's throne room?" hisses the acrobat in a low voice.

Azula smiles wryly. "He won't notice. And besides, he won't care. Grandfather and I get along fine."

The two other girls share a look, and Ty Lee beams back at Azula quickly. "Can I take a quick peek, if I'm quiet?"

"Sure," Azula says, somewhat bemused.

The other girl carefully peels back one of the velvet curtains so that she can see into the throne room. Torches light the back walls carefully; as the curtains move the light shines onto the blood-red tiles of the hallway. The princess watches as Ty Lee looks around, perhaps in both shock and wonder, and Mai even leans forward so that she can see what the room looks like before.

Ty Lee frowns. "Hey, Azula," she says in a low tone, "I think your parents are in there."

A furrow forms between the girl's brows and she moves up so that she can pull back the other side of the curtain and see into the throne room. The large platform in the middle is still engulfed in a magnificent display, and her grandfather's form is shadows in a golden chair. Across the room two people – her parents? – kneel and bow until their heads reach the ground.

Azula moves so she can better see them. The other girls crowd around behind her, peering in over her head.

"You have called for us?" her father's clear voice echoes across the room. The Lady Ursa shifts uncomfortably on the floor.

Azulon's form shifts until he is standing and pacing restlessly. "Yes," he says at last. "I have called for you to give you important news."

Ozai's frown is small but definite. "News, father?"

Her grandfather stops his pacing and faces the two people on the ground in front of him. There is both agitation and weariness in his stance, things that are foreign to him as he has strived to be so calm for decades upon decades. But Azula watches as his hands minutely fidget, something she has never seen him do.

"There is nothing I can say to soften the blow," he says, and lets a long breath out of his mouth. "I have received word that an ambush was carried out on the soldiers at Ba Sing Se. They had broken through the outer wall only days before. Few were found alive, and we have no idea of who attacked them. The rebel groups have been suppressed for years."

Both Prince Ozai and the Lady Ursa gasp at the news of this horrible loss. "Has the battle been lost?" Ursa asks in a small voice.

Azulon twists his hands behind his back, where his son and his wife cannot see. "The outer wall has already been rebuilt, and there is little left of our camp there. Thousands of soldiers - gone. More are missing than dead."

Ozai looks at his father with a pensive look on his face. Azula knows that face. It is not a face to be trusted. "And is there word of my beloved brother, the General Iroh?"

A heavy silence hangs in the air for a moment. "No," Azulon says slowly, with sadness in his voice. "There has been no word of your brother; my son Iroh."

They continue to sit in the throne room. After a minute no one says anything; there is silence for the dead, and silence for those whose whereabouts are unknown. There is both hope and sadness and victory in one room. The flames burn higher in the center of the room and cast strange shadows on the walls.

Azula pulls back from the screen. "Come on," she says quietly, pulling the other two girls away from the throne room.

They follow, eyes wide and mouths open. Even Mai's face is transformed by utter shock, and Ty Lee's face is no different. Even Azula is surprised, and worried about Uncle Iroh. He is her favorite uncle and her only uncle and she really really hopes that he is still out there, somewhere.

Once they have reached an empty room far enough away, Azula slides the door shut behind them and slumps against one of the solid marble walls, slipping down onto the ground. Mai stands, twisting a knife on her finger, and Ty Lee falls into a heap of limbs on the floor.

"The siege of Ba Sing Se has failed," she says in an awed and frightened tone. "Does this mean that we will lose the war? Everything hinged on Ba Sing Se," she asks uncertainly.

Mai looks down at the two girls, face blank and emotionless. "Ba Sing Se," she adds, "is the strongest city in the whole Earth Kingdom. If we could break it, we could continue to win the war."

_What is right and wrong?_ the girls wonder. Is this right or wrong? Fate or coincidence?

Azula waits a moment before answering. "If the people are fighting back," she says quietly, "were we ever truly winning in the first place?"

No one answers.

* * *

10.

The room is dark and ominously full of shadows. Plants shade the outer edges of the room, and a single chandelier full of lit candles hangs in the middle of the room. A table is underneath the light, illumined by shimmering firelight. The small flames on the candles waver unsteadily, almost shivering in the darkness of the room.

Two people sit at the table.

Between them is a pai-sho board. The pieces on the board are arranged to form a white lotus. In the center lies the lotus tile itself.

The one closest to the door on the far side of the room speaks. Her voice is feminine and full of intangible warmth. "I assume that the plan is in motion?" she asks smoothly.

The man across from her nods hurriedly. "Yes, everything is set in place. The woman is on her way. Everything is ready for the plan to begin."

She nods slowly, a growing smile on her face. It is both a smirk and a smile full of relief. "Good," she says simply. "Very good."

"Has the family received news of the failure of the siege yet?"

"Yes," the woman replies steadily. "Azulon has heard the news. He is keeping it quiet for now."

The man hmms. "He cannot keep it quiet for long," he says pensively.

She shrugs. "This is true."

The man examines the woman for a moment. Most of her face is cast into shadows by the light and her long hair, but he can still make out a straight and noble nose, full lips, and arching eyebrows. Her eyes glint dangerously in the darkness. Her hair falls in straight lines down her back and along the sides of her face. It is a dark brown-black and she is beautiful, really, from what he can tell. She has a noble spirit, that he knows.

"Everything we have done we owe to you," he says abruptly.

The woman stills. "I know," she says in a quiet and almost-remorseful voice.

"Do you regret it?" he asks the beautiful woman across from him.

Her eyes glance away for a moment before looking down at the table. She takes a white dragon tile in her hand and fingers it, feeling the ridges carved into the wood. She smiles in a small way, a smile of remembrance and childhood and those times long past that she desperately longs for, when things were much easier. "No," she replies after a while. "I do not regret it. I am doing what is right."

The man's answering smile is bittersweet. "It is not always easy to do the right thing, hmm?"

"No," she agrees. "It is not always easy."

He shifts in his chair, leaning closer on the table to see her face. "Is everything progressing on your side of the plan?" he asks, resting his head on his chin. His eyes are brown and somewhat dull, but there is quick intelligence hidden behind layers upon layers.

She nods. "Yes. I have someone who will receive the operative and smuggle them into the palace. And the herbs are working. His health is slowly – very, very slowly – starting to fail."

"Good," the man says, more cheerful than her. "That is very good for us."

She inclines her head gracefully. He observes her for a moment before asking, "Does he know?"

_Yes, _she wants to answer. "No," she says. "He does not know."

His smile is somewhat cruel and it looks almost as if it belongs on his face. His chin is pointed and his ears are disproportionate, and she is sure that somewhere in the deepest part of his heart he does this for the good of the people. But she really knows that he mostly does this for revenge; for his brother, his sisters, his mother, his father. He does it for them, as she does it for her family.

She pushes her chair back from the table and stands up unexpectedly. The man hurried to stand up as well, bowing slightly from the waist with respect. She inclines her head regally before turning around and heading for the door. Her hand is resting on the doorknob when his voice reaches her.

"Why do you do it?" he asks. "We all wonder about the motives of the Phoenix. Why do you do it? You have much more to lose than all of us."

Her heart twists in her chest; gold eyes flash.

"I would do anything to protect the ones I love."


	9. the shadow of the dawn

**Title:** ab igne ignem capere  
**Chapter Title: **the shadow of the dawn  
**Author:** honestly_sangi / Sangi  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own A:TLA or anything contained within or related to it.  
**Word Count: **12146  
**Rating:** T  
**Author's Notes:** This is my idea of an alternate universe in which Azula was born first, is generally unloved, and turns out to be a kind-of hero.

**I apologize that I did not respond everyone's reviews from last chapter. Some things came up with my family and I didn't get to write for quite a while! However, I do read all of the reviews when I get them. So I would like to give out a blanket thank you to everyone! If you had questions, you can post them here again or PM me. Again, I am very sorry for this late update. I hope that in the future I can update _much _more quickly. Now that midterms are over I should have more time.

As a recap, this is the chapter that takes place during the time-skip. Hopefully it should explain some things. They do not necessarily go in chronological order.

Ab igne ignem capere -  
To light a fire with fire  
- Cicero

_This child I would destroy  
If you tried to set her free  
This child I would destroy  
For I hold her pain most dear_  
- Vienna Teng, My Medea

* * *

0.

For the first year, Azula excitedly waits for the mail to arrive.

Eventually she stops waiting.

* * *

1.

Jin's smile is predatory as she looks over at the Princess Azula.

The window behind her is open, and a gentle wind passes through and ruffles her dark black hair. Her eyes are a delicate and slanted gold, molten with hate and envy and everything that lies between. Her cheekbones are high and prominent in her face, the corners of her mouth lifting. Her smile does not reach her eyes, but rather ends somewhere in the middle of her face.

Azula hates Jin because she tells her lies whenever she has the chance; because Jin is a cruel little girl who likes to make other little girls cry. But Azula never cries, and Jin never stops.

"Hey, Azula," she says sweetly. Azula does not turn around but continues to watch her from the corner of her eye. "I can tell you're listening, Azula," her voice croons. "Please talk to me." Jin is cruel.

The princess turns more in her seat, facing the front of the room where the instructor would be if she hadn't left the room. The other girls are chatting together, and Mai and Ty Lee are in another class. Azula is several seats ahead of Jin, one row to the side.

Jin taps her long, red fingernails against the wood of the desk. The clacking noise echoes uneasily in the other girl's ears; the room is full of noise but all she can hear is mocking laughter and the cruel words of a cruel little girl. "I heard," Jin begins, "that your father announced that your brother is officially his heir now. Is it true?" The mocking smile lingers on her face and girls in the row in front of them turn around and watch with wide eyes.

Azula says nothing, and shrugs her shoulder in a small way. It is nothing but acquiescence to Jin. "That's really too bad," the girl pouts. "For you, I mean. Now everyone knows that your father hates you."

Silence pervades the room, nothing there now but the echoes of Jin's voice. All of the girls are watching, eyes wide and almost-excited.

After a long moment, Jin speaks again. "I thought maybe your mother or the Fire Lord would say something about it, but they didn't. I guess it's more like nobody loves you at all."

The princess stiffens in her seat. "That isn't true," she says in a low, dangerous voice. "It isn't true."

Light shines through the window and illuminates her hair, turning it into shades of black-brown and there are undertones of auburn. The sunlight creates a halo around Jin's head and darkens Azula's face and the two girls are so different, just really so different.

The smile on Jin's face wobbles, almost turning into a smirk. But the girls watch and to them she is saying what everyone wants to say anyways. "It's okay," her voice assures in a kind tone, "you don't need to worry. Everyone knows. We've always known, really."

Azula shakes her head angrily, her ponytail swishing back and forth. She doesn't look back at Jin, but the faces of the other girls are enough and her voice cracks when she speaks. "My parents love me. They do." _They have to, _her mind corrects. _Because if they don't… _

The mean little girl leans back in her seat and shrugs. "If you say so, Princess," and the title sounds mocking coming from her mouth. "But let me ask – have they ever told you so?"

With these words, the world that Azula has built around herself shakes and cracks appear in the walls. _Just because they haven't said it doesn't mean anything, _she thinks. _I know they love me. Don't all parents love their children? _

The clack of wood on wood catches her attention and all the girls hurriedly turn around in their seats, eyes still excited, and Jin settles down with a contented smile on her face. Azula watches as their instructor enters the room, an elderly woman, with scrolls in her hands.

"Now, then," she says with authority, "let us resume our lesson."

The sun only rises higher in the sky as the day goes on, and throughout all her lessons Azula keeps her eyes low and only catches half the words she is supposed to hear. Mai and Ty Lee watch, a little worried, and share secretive glances when no one else is looking. There is a look in the princess's eyes that they have never seen before; a look that they do not want to see there.

Her eyes hold defeat.

Azula knocks on Mai's door that night, while Ty Lee and the knife-thrower are studying, and brown eyes meet gold eyes and Ty Lee forces a grin to her face and catapults over to the door. She opens it and the girl stands there, a scroll tucked into her elbow and a look of listlessness about her.

The acrobat stands to the side and Azula enters and sits on the bed where the other two had been studying. Mai watches with a careful look of apathy that is betrayed by the furrowing of her brows, and Ty Lee just walks back over to the bed and sits down.

It takes only moments for her to speak.

"She asked me, and I didn't know what to say." Her voice is small and diminutive and Ty Lee doesn't like it all because this isn't Azula, this isn't the girl who stands up to everyone and cares and _believes_, really believes in the good in people.

Mai watches for a moment before pulling out a knife and carefully balancing it on her finger. "What did she ask you?" she wonders nonchalantly.

"She asked me if they told me that they loved me, and I didn't know what to say." Her voice shakes. "Because they haven't ever said that. I haven't spoken to my mother in such a long time I can barely remember the shape of her face."

Ty Lee's eyes are filled with concern as she reaches a hand out to the firebender's shoulder. "Azula - " she says cautiously, but the other girl shrugs the hand away.

"Don't deny it," she says. "You can't deny it, because we all know it's true and that I just really really wanted them to love me, but they don't." _They love Zuko because he's the best and isn't he wonderful and why aren't I good enough? What makes me so different?_

After a minute, Ty Lee speaks. "I'm sorry," she says quietly. "I'm really sorry." Mai's eyes are somewhat kind as they watch, and Azula looks at both of them carefully before glancing away.

She waits for a moment before shrugging. "It's okay. Well, I think it will be." It isn't okay, and Azula knows that. And it won't ever really be okay. But it's a lot easier to pretend to tell the truth and maybe one day she can fool herself enough that it doesn't hurt anymore.

Mai eventually says, "Everything usually turns out that way."

Azula smiles lightly. "Yeah," she says. "I hope so."

* * *

2.

_Dear Uncle Iroh,_

_How are you doing? I have not heard from you in a very long time. I wanted to write you this letter to tell you how I have been doing in school. Most of the time we do very boring things, and we study all the normal subjects. But I have to study more than everyone else because I am a princess, even though no one expects me to do anything right because everyone knows how Father feels about me. In a way, it's very nice because no one expects anything from me and no one sucks up to me at all. In a way, it's very bad because no one talks to me, except for a couple of people. _

_I can firebend now. I'm not sure if anyone has told you, but I thought you should know. I know that everyone thought that I would never be able to firebend, but I can! I really can. When you come back for a visit I will come to the palace and show you. I haven't been back yet this year but it's only been half a year since school started, so there is plenty of time._

_I have made two friends named Mai and Ty Lee. I think their fathers know Father and Grandfather because they work in the military. They are very nice girls. Neither one of them can firebend, but Ty Lee is an acrobat and she wants to join the circus and Mai is a knife-thrower. _

_I have been getting very good marks in school, so you can be proud of me. But that is enough about me. How have you been? How does the siege of Ba Sing Se? I have never been to the Earth Kingdom before. What is it like?_

_I have written Father, but he does not write back. Neither does Zuko. _

_I hope you will write back,_

_Princess Azula_

Her hands shake slightly as she reads the letter, gold eyes tearing up. There is such sincerity in every word that it pains her to know that she had once been too weak to protect her daughter, and now she suffers. She had made mistake upon mistake and now…

Everything is her fault.

The second letter reads,

_Dear Little Brother,_

_How are you doing? I am doing very well. I hope that your firebending lessons are going well. Did I tell you that I can firebend now? Well, I can. But when I firebend the flames are blue. I think it's weird, but the trainer tells me it's a good thing. I think she is just being nice._

_I know that your birthday is coming up soon, and I don't know what to get you. In fact, I don't think I really can get you anything because I don't have permission to leave the school. So when I come back for a visit I will just have to bring you a gift for every birthday I have missed. How does that sound?_

_I was wondering if you had made any friends. When I left Mother was just beginning to set up some play-dates with other nobles' children. Were they nice? I hope so. I hope that you have made some good friends._

_I have made some friends here as well. Their names are Mai and Ty Lee and they are very nice. Maybe they could come for a visit sometime._

_Practice your firebending every day. That will make Grandfather proud._

_Write back,_

_Azula _

The last letter is enough to break her heart.

_Dear Commander Zhao, _

_Hello, I hope you have been well. I am doing very well in school and I hope that your journeys have taken you to magical places. The world is so big, but I've never seen anything more than the Capital and here. Maybe someday we could go on a journey together? I think that would be very nice._

_I have thought about it, and I still do not like war. I think this puts me in a very awkward position because I am a Fire Nation Princess and I should like war and firebending and destruction, but I don't like it. Not at all. I don't even understand it. _

_What makes them so different than us? What makes them so much less than we are?_

_Aren't they just people, just people like us? Don't they bleed like we do?_

_I've seen fire burn down buildings by accidents. Does fire burn people the same way? _

_I don't like war. Fire burns and burns and it always seems to destroy. Does it ever bring life? Happiness? Does the fire make us bad, or have we used it for bad?_

_It makes me wonder, that's all. When I hold fire in my hand I know that it's power, but does power corrupt? Or do we corrupt power?_

_Please write,_

_Azula_

_P.S. Oh, I forgot to tell you that I can firebend now. And I play pai-sho with my friend Mai._

Her fingers clench lightly over the scroll, graceful digits bending and unbending in an almost timeless agony. Something inside her twists in an ugly, horrible way and she hates the fact that this is happening to Azula, her poor little Azula. But this is the best way, after all – the only way to keep her away from her father's quest for power. She had only partially corrected her mistake.

Ursa carefully inspects the letters one last time before tossing them into the fire. The scrolls curl and crumble as the flames eat at them and the lady watches impassively. The sun is setting and its fading rays are filtered into room through the thin paper window, casting long shadows onto her face.

Prince Ozai watches from the doorway, making no sound. His eyes are a bright and glittering gold, and his fingers twitch anxiously. The scrolls burn to ash rapidly, and then the fire subsists off the air and the logs.

He moves forward and the wood creaks beneath his feet. Ursa turns around cautiously, and her shoulders relax some when she sees it is only him. "Good evening," she greets him calmly.

Ozai smirks lightly, coming forward to take her hand and nestle it into his arm. "It's almost time for dinner. What were you doing?" his question is light and frivolous, and she smiles at him coyly.

"I was simply reading some correspondence from some friends in the country," she smoothly lies.

He begins to steer them out of the room.

"Oh?" he asks. "How… interesting."

* * *

3.

Fire is but clay in his hands, and he molds it as his body swirls majestically through space and there is really something magical about the way that fire comes from nothing but air and will. He can bend it and make it into power and it comes from nothing at all.

Earth must come from earth, air from air, water from water, but all fire needs is air and it bursts to life with vivacity and verve and it's so much more powerful than any of the others.

Zuko knows this because he's watched as fire burned down homes and villages and families; he's been to the Earth Kingdom, on the shore with his father's generals, and watched as they screamed for mercy. They received none. The smell of burning flesh is ingrained in his memory, along with the looks on their faces as the fire ate them alive.

They screamed to be forgiven. But losers, Zuko knows, are never forgiven.

Fire burns so quickly and so destructively. To the prince it's no wonder that the Fire Nation took over – their gift makes it obvious that they are much more superior; the rest of the world never stood a chance. His father is always right, he thinks with an inward smile. Father is always right.

His hands push forward, and red-hot fire that is a million shades of wonderful spills out and singes the top of the grass. With a smirk on his small face, he finishes the routine and stops. His arms are in front of him, his legs spread apart in a stable stance.

"Very good," a slow voice says from behind him. Zuko turns around, the smirk still present on his face.

The man that is standing there, almost across the yard, is vaguely familiar. It is as if the prince he had seen him from afar once or twice before. Zuko knows his father's advisors and generals by sight, and this man is not one of them. But his hands are calloused, and firebenders always have calloused hands. And to be alive and old and a firebender means that he is good. Better than good.

"Thank you," Zuko says, with a flourish of a bow. The smirk does not leave his face.

Golden eyes watch him contemplatively. "You are the young prince, I assume." He is not asking a question, and the boy does not answer. His hands itch to firebend but they lie still at his sides. "I have heard much about you."

The smirk disappears. "Thank you," he says again, and the man snorts disinterestedly.

"That wasn't a compliment." His hair is white and sticks up out of his head like bits of hay. There is a seriousness in his face that Zuko is unaccustomed to seeing. It isn't the stark solemnity of his father, because beneath everything his father always carries a tint of arrogance. But this man is different; his eyes are bright and alert and there is something that reminds him a bit of his Uncle Iroh in him.

Zuko steps a bit closer, linking his hands behind his back. "Who are you?" he asks, a little curious.

The man smiles and it is a blade of a smile. "I am a captain in the navy."

"What's your name?" The prince comes even closer, until he is close enough to see the puffy red scars that run across his face.

The firebender gives a short, perfunctory bow. "I am Jeong Jeong."

The boy has never heard his name before; there is no recognition in his eyes. But there is a smidgen of respect and curiosity and a lot of barely-concealed arrogance. He reminds Jeong Jeong of Prince Ozai, although the boy looks more like his mother. The Lady Ursa is beautiful, Jeong Jeong knows, and on her son her features look almost masculine.

"What have you heard about me?" The boy asks the master firebender.

Jeong Jeong shrugs minutely. "I have heard that you are a competent firebender for your age." His upper lip curls disgustedly. "But you still lack control."

Zuko stretches out his hand quickly and a small burst of flame flares and glows menacingly in his palm. "What do you mean?" he asks. "Is this not control?"

"Fire can never truly be controlled," the captain answers. "We may hold it in our hand, but we must remember that it is a dangerous weapon. It is not a toy, and it can destroy the world if we let it."

The fire flickers uncertainly. "Fire is a weapon," Zuko asserts, "that we should use to control the rest of the world."

Gold eyes fill with pitying amusement. "Why?" he wonders.

The prince's brow furrows and he looks confused. "What do you mean, why?"

"Why should we use our firebending to control the rest of the world?" Jeong Jeong's face is serious but there is something more sinister behind it, something that lurks and waits in the darkness. There is fear in his eyes, but not of Zuko. Of the fire itself?

The boy looks at him as if he is insane. "Because we are superior than them," Zuko explains, as if talking to a child. "We are so much better and we deserve to rule the world."

Jeong Jeong frowns and it shadows his entire face. "What makes us superior? What makes fire so much better than water, or earth, or air?"

Zuko does not answer. He watches with wide eyes, and the fire in his hands dies out with a whoosh of ominous air. Smoke curls into the air and fills his nostrils; a familiar scent. Jeong Jeong stands close to him, close enough that he can see the pain and disgust in his eyes.

"What can fire do that makes it better?" He holds out his hand, similar to Zuko's, and lets flames fly out. He then closes his hand, and opens it again. There is nothing there. "Earth builds, water heals, and air calms. But all fire does is destroy. It burns and burns and burns until there is nothing left."

His hand, so empty, stares up at Zuko. "And when it disappears," the old man says, "there is nothing left but destruction and death."

The boy looks up at Jeong Jeong, and captain instantly knows that to the prince his words mean nothing. They are the simply words, words that he may one day understand, but for now they mean nothing. He is too poisoned by his father.

"I don't understand," Zuko says. "Fire is always better than the other elements."

There is both pity and dawning comprehension in Jeong Jeong's eyes as he looks at the prince that would one day rule the world. "I once thought," he murmurs, "that you would turn out differently. I once had hope for you."

Gold, innocent yet not, stares up at him. The boy's robes are a bright red, the red of blood and burns and death, and he is truly his father's son.

Jeong Jeong closes his eyes. "It appears I was wrong."

* * *

4.

Baozhai sits across from the Lady Ursa at a low table. Two cups of tea rest between them, the steam rising in lazy curls. From under lowered lashes, the older woman observes the sister of her daughter's friend.

The girl is everything she thought she would be. Her eyes are a brown that flashes grey in the light, and her hair is a long brown as well. She looks so much like her sisters that it would be easy to mistake her for one of them; but there's something about her, Ursa muses, that makes her different than the rest.

There is a quiet intelligence in Baozhai's eyes, masked by the polite face those of the nobility wear.

"It was so kind of you to invite me to tea," the younger girl murmurs softly, gently picking up the porcelain cup of tea and raising it to her lips.

Ursa smiles, a small and tender smile, and waits until their eyes meet. "It was no problem," she says. "I have heard so much about you."

There is a small furrow between the other girl's brows, nearly imperceptible. Then a small, slightly mocking smile comes to her lips. "Really?" The girl hmms. "What exactly have you heard?"

The lady sets down her cup and carefully folds her hands in her lap. Her robes are made of expensive silk but they chafe uncomfortably against her skin and there is a light sheen of sweat on her palms. "I have heard of your upcoming marriage. Is it not to the son of Commander Wang?"

Baozhai watches her warily for a long moment before smiling beatifically. "Yes, I am marrying Yujun, the son of Commander Wang. He is a high-ranking palace official."

A wind blows through the open doors the courtyard and ruffle the young girl's hair; something indiscernible flashes in her eyes for a moment before disappearing. Her fingers are long and graceful, still grasping the small cup in her hands. There is something in the way she holds herself and Ursa knows that she has her.

The Lady Ursa smiles and leans in a bit. Baozhai simply watches. "I know all about your husband, Baozhai. Is he not the official that watches over the mail service to the Earth Kingdom?"

Baozhai shifts uncomfortably, adjusting her folded legs on the embroidered cushion. Beneath the cushion the wood of the floor creaks loudly, echoing in the emptiness of the room. Her hair is put up in an intricate and beautiful bun with tendrils free around her face; ornate pins hold it in place. On her face is light makeup that does little to hide the lack of color.

"Yes," she answers at last. She sets down her cup of tea, empty, on the table. Her hands shake. "My fiancé has the honor of holding such a position."

"Hmm," Ursa says idly as she pours more tea into the girl's cup. "I can only imagine…"

The weight of the gold-eyed woman's stare rests on her shoulders like the weight of the world. "Imagine what?" she asks, with almost unnecessary harshness.

The woman only smiles. "Well, I only wonder… the person in that position holds so much power, don't they? Every military command, every troop movement – they all pass through him, right?"

The other girl picks up the cup of tea, sniffs it delicately and inconspicuously before taking a sip. "Yes, he does hold much power. I am fortunate that I will be his bride."

The Lady Ursa's smile turns a bit reminiscent and her eyes dim a bit. Once, a long time ago, when she had been but a child full of dreams and aspirations not yet dead, she had a storybook that her mother read to her. Her favorite story was about a princess who caught the attention of a government official. They could never be together because of the difference in stations, and she did not notice him at first. But over time, his aspirations came to her attention and she fell in love with him. They lived the rest of their lives blissfully happy.

When Ursa had learned how to read, she found out that the ending of the true story was radically different. Her fiancé, the prince of another kingdom, had killed the official. The princess had killed herself out of desperation.

Ursa had promised herself she would never do the same. She would not give up as the princess had. She would never be so weak.

Golden eyes lift back up and look into deceptive brown-gray. The girl across from her is intelligent and an almost-good actress, but there is still more for her to learn. "I would say that your husband is lucky to have you as well."

Baozhai nods her head in acknowledgement before taking another sip of the tea. It is lukewarm now, but it is not bad. And when she holds the cup of tea it is not so obvious that her entire body shakes with nervousness.

The lady watches for a moment longer, then says, "You know what I wish of you, do you not?"

The brown-haired girl looks away. "I know what you want," she says in a defeated voice. "I do not know if I can give it to you."

In that moment she is nothing but a vulnerable little girl again, her hair in pigtails and the other girls picking on her. Her body is slumped as if conquered by an invisible force and her eyes are dead, empty of life. The Lady Ursa smiles.

"I have faith in you. You will not disappoint me."

Outside, in the courtyard, the little boy that could have been hers firebends with ease. His hands move through the air and cut through it like sharpened knives. Even though there is skill in his movements, there is something lacking. He is a proficient firebender but there is something missing that he will never have. A breeze again ruffles Baozhai's hair.

Gray eyes move over to look at her. "Why?" the girl asks in a small voice. Even the teacup cannot mask the shaking of her body anymore.

"Have you ever thought that this was right, Baozhai? I know that you hate the violence, the death, just as much as I do." She leans closer to the girl, hands resting on the table between them. "Help me end it."

Baozhai snorts indelicately. "I am not stupid, Lady Ursa. That may be what you tell everyone, but we both know that is not the whole truth. Tell me, truly," fire blasts in the background, Zuko spins and spins, "why?"

Heavy silence follows her question, until: "A long time ago I made several mistakes. This is the only way to correct them."

"Why must you correct your mistakes?"

Ursa closes her eyes.

"I finally realized that I would do anything to protect the ones I love."

* * *

5.

Once upon a time, General Iroh had a son.

The image of his golden eyes fills his mind before he falls asleep every night.

When Lu Ten had been young, his eyes had been full of life. He had looked so much like his mother that almost everyone recognized him as her son, but never as the son of General Iroh.

As the boy had grown older, he had followed in his father's footsteps, and the life never faded from his eyes. His face had matured until he resembled his father and grandfather, and he had played with his little cousin Azula and saw little Zuko and there was _something_ about Lu Ten that attracted people to him like moths to a flame.

Children had loved him; everyone loved him the moment they met him. There was something charming in the way he talked, something both humble and extravagant that was singularly his.

Iroh can remember his face with startling clarity – the face of the boy and the face of the man. He tries to forget the moments before he died, but he stopped truly trying a long time ago. Every night he sees his son's face before he goes to sleep; he hears the dying words of his son and likes to pretend that it never happened.

Once upon a time, General Iroh had a son. But no longer.

The General takes a sip from his glass of cool, refreshing water and looks down the table at the men who serve under him. They are all weary, armor already mud-stained although all the armor is polished every morning. There are lines on their faces where there was once vitality.

Not for the first time, Iroh wonders if he is doing the right thing.

Before the thought can take hold, he lets it drift away into the far recesses of his mind. A small grimace passes over his face before he speaks. "I have called you here today to discuss and re-examine our strategy for breaking the walls."

Somewhere in the back of the tent a man sighs. Several other men look irritated, because they've had this discussion so many times before and now it's just plain repetitive. Over and over again, and the wheel turns.

"I know, I know," Iroh says placatingly. "But we all have to admit that what we are doing now is not working. We must come up with another strategy. Does anyone have any ideas?"

Silence reigns for several long moments before one man raises his hand, then another, and another. He motions to one, and they begin.

They argue for hours, voices rising over other voices and screams and shouts taking hold at more than one point. Through it all, Iroh looks out at them with unseeing eyes and lets it go on and on and on. When dusk arrives, they file out, still muttering angrily and no decisions have been made. But the General knows that they have all blown off steam, and that was the point of the exercise.

Iroh slowly makes his way over to the wall, where they have built a mechanism to lift them to the top. The workers turn the handle and the platform slowly lifts him so that he can oversee the area where green fields had once been. The sight of ash raining down on the city makes him feel better, even though he knows he is no longer that man.

He realizes that his quest for revenge is twisted and futile, but he must win this battle. Not for his country – not anymore.

For Lu Ten.

Fire still burns in the outer circle of the city; they raise the temperatures until it is simply the dirt being incinerated. They want it there as a warning and as a barrier between them and the enemy, and the scent of ash fills his nostrils reminiscently. To him the smell is nothing more than normal, but it must be frightening and new to the people of Ba Sing Se.

_Good, _he thinks cruelly.

"General?" a voice asks from behind him, sounding a bit annoyed. Iroh startles and turns around, coming out of his reverie. Standing there is a short man, holding official-looking papers in his hands. The little man bows once the General is facing him fully. "We found someone in the village that saw this mysterious 'Phoenix' person. They sat down and described the person for a sketch, although they never saw the person's eyes." The man pauses and eyes him contemplatively for a second. "Would you like to come and see?"

His feet move before he can answer with a coarse "Yes." He walks so fast that the little man scurries to keep up after him, and he has gone halfway across the encampment when he realizes that he has no idea where he is going. He stops abruptly, and the assistant comes up next to him, breathing heavily.

"This way, General Iroh," he says, tugging on his sleeve and heading off to the west. Iroh follows behind him, this time at a more sedate pace.

They enter a nondescript tent that is filled with tables and scrolls and papers. At one table a lamp lights the surrounding area, illuminating a single paper with a portrayal of a person on it. "Here," the official says reverentially, and carefully picks up the picture and hands it to Iroh.

He grasps it eagerly yet cautiously, making sure not to wrinkle the page.

It is a person, the top of their face covered in shadows, the length of their hair long. Their face is delicate and instantly Iroh knows that it is a woman; he does not know how, but there is something in the curve of her nose, in the shape of her lips…

In a moment it hits him and his hands shake. His whole body shakes uncontrollably and the paper drops out of his hands and flutters uselessly to the ground. His eyes cannot stop seeing the picture of her face, a face he has seen a thousand times – no, more than that. He has seen it in the light and in the dark, a face that has retained its beauty although the years have passed by.

"Sir? General Iroh?" the man asks worriedly, shaking him. The other man, the scribe, watches in fascinated horror. Iroh looks at him with unseeing eyes, his body gradually calming down, his heartbeat slowing. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Nothing," Iroh says slowly. "Really, I am fine. It was merely a sudden ill feeling that took over my body."

The man sends him a strange look that disappears quickly as Iroh looks innocent and hale. He then picks up the paper, brushing the dirt off of it. "Did you recognize the person?" he asks curiously, admiring the Phoenix.

"No, I did not," Iroh says, folding his hands behind his back. There is a look in his eye that the other men do not recognize.

"The Phoenix will, for now, remain unknown."

* * *

6.

The palace is beautiful, but Mai hates it. It is carefully decorated in shades of red and crimson and gold and black, but it is too perfect and Mai hates it. Usually she likes everything to be in its place, and here she hates how each tapestry hangs perfectly on the wall and how every door is perfectly spaced from the last. She hates how everything belongs; she hates how she does not.

The girl is not wearing shoes, only socks that are an unusual black. Her hair is in two impeccable buns that are tied with red ribbons in little bows. Her slanted golden eyes are lined with kohl. She is but a doll.

A tapestry hangs on the wall in front of her. It is simple: the characters for peace and prosperity. Mai stares at it blankly and wonders at the irony.

Swooshing sounds from behind her herald the approach of her mother. The silk of her robes makes the softest lullabies.

"Let me see you," her mother orders. Slowly, Mai turns around and looks up at her mother. The woman is older but still has remnants of her original beauty.

Her mother inspects her with narrowed eyes. Finally she reaches out and adjusts Mai's robes, tugging here and there to straighten out the wrinkles. "You will do," she says briskly and appraisingly. "I suppose you know where to go," she says. There is no question in her mind.

Mai says nothing; she nods silently. Her right fist clenches and wrinkles the delicate silk of her robes - patterns of white flowers against black and red swirls.

The older woman nods. Her eyes are discerning and she stares at her daughter for several long seconds. "You must not mess this up for me," she says in a low voice. "You will marry this boy. Do you understand, Mai?" She frowns when the girl does not immediately answer. "Do you understand?" she demands.

The girl's left eyebrow quirks up and she smirks ironically. "I understand, mother."

"Good." Her mother nods decisively. "If I cannot have a son, I will at least have a prince for son-in-law." Her smile can barely be called a smile. It quickly morphs into a frown. "What are you waiting for? Go."

Mai needs no further instruction. She turns around and walks down the hallway, quickly disappearing around a corner. A smile upturns the corners of her lips.

The Royal Family's rooms are not far from the center of the palace. With the stealth of an assassin she maneuvers through the many corridors until she reaches the area. There are no guards at these doors; this is too far within the labyrinth of the palace. She opens the doors and slips through like a shadow, like a wraith of a child.

Doors upon doors line the sides of the hallway. She counts four down on the left. That is his room, she knows very well. Inside there will be his large canopied bed on an elevated section of the room. That's where she'll wait, she decides. She'll wait for him there. Mai does not smile, but her face is full of raw determination.

Quietly and with her deft fingers she slides the door open. Silence. Then, "Mai?"

Mai freezes. Her hand twitches toward where she keeps a knife hidden in the folds of her robes. She clenches it shut and closes the door quickly. "Lady Mai?" the woman asks again.

The girl turns around slowly. Her eyes widen a bit when she sees who it is. "Lady Ursa?" she asks in a small voice.

There is a frown on the older woman's face. "What are you doing here?" she asks in a voice that is not kind yet not mean.

Immediately Mai becomes a young girl embarrassed and shy. She scuffs her feet against the smooth wood of the floors and looks down at the ground. She clasps her hands loosely behind her back. "I was looking around, and I got lost. I can't find my mother."

The tension in Ursa's face fades the slightest degree. There is a maternal look in her eye and Mai mentally smiles. Adults are so easy to fool. They are so willing to believe in the words of a bashful child.

"Here," the Lady Ursa says, extending her hand to the girl. "Come with me and I will help you find your mother. The palace is very extensive and it can be quite easy to find yourself lost."

Mai smiles, truly it seems the smile of a young girl found, and takes the lady's hand. "Thank you," she says quietly. Ursa begins to lead them back out of the hallway, a small and kindly smile on her face.

"It is no trouble. When I first came to the palace I got lost many times. It takes many years of living here to truly know the palace so well."

The girl does not agree, but she simply smiles. "Oh. Where did I end up?" Her voice is so utterly innocent.

Ursa sends her a quick glance but sees nothing. "You were in the royal apartments."

"Is that where you stay?" She asks curiously. "You and your husband and the Fire Lord?"

The princess by marriage lets go of Mai's hand as they emerge into a well-lit corridor. They pass a couple of young women dressed ornately, who bow their heads to the Lady Ursa as they walk by. "Yes," she answers. "We all stay there, including my son Prince Zuko."

Mai watches as the woman's eyes flash in the candlelight. "Does General Iroh stay there too?"

"Iroh also stays there, at least when he is in the Fire Nation. Right now he is in the Earth Kingdom."

_I know, _Mai thinks with a smirk. _My father works for you. You think I don't know. _"I have never met General Iroh."

They continue walking down the hallway, passing larger doors where stationed guards stand outside of them. Their masks make them look like skeletons and Mai idly wonders if killing someone takes your soul. She doesn't know. Her eyes move to look at the Lady Ursa. If the woman had not caught her, she would have safely made it to the young boy's room. She would have been able to eventually fulfill her mother's plans. Inwardly, she smirks. Unknowingly she fiddles with the knife under her robes. Oh well.

"Does the Princess Azula stay there as well?" she asks suddenly.

Ursa stops walking. "What?" she asks when Mai stops next to her.

"I asked you if the Princess Azula stays in the royal apartments as well."

The beautiful woman closes her eyes and breathes for a moment. The palace smells slightly of wax, oil, and fire. It always does. She takes a long swallow and opens her eyes. Mai sees that they are bright gold, just like hers, but there is a sadness and longing in them that she did not expect.

Lady Ursa shakes her head. "No," she says in a strange voice. "The Princess Azula's rooms are in another section of the palace." Her eyes catch Mai's. "Do you know her?"

Mai smiles mysteriously. She swivels and continues to walk down the hallway. "I know the way from here," she says over her shoulder. Ursa watches her disappear. She stands there for several minutes before she turns around and heads back to her apartments.

When the young girl finds her mother, the woman smiles and asks excitedly, "What happened?"

Her mother is still-beautiful, but there is a greed in her face that makes her ugly. Mai notices that people don't see it at first, but after enough time anyone can notice it. She hopes it isn't contagious.

The knife-thrower sends her mother a look. "I got caught," she says.

A look of despair crosses her mother's face. "Caught? By who?"

Mai shakes her head. "It doesn't matter. I got away. Let's leave."

A carefully manicured hand grabs her upper arm as she turns away. In her ear is her mother's voice, hissing angrily. "You won't mess this up again, will you Mai? Because you know how important this plan is to your father and I. You will succeed, do you understand?"

The girl shuffles her shoulder and pushes the hand off.

"I understand."

* * *

7.

Ozai meets his father in his private garden.

The small space is filled with the lighthearted sound of tinkling water that comes from a miniature artificial waterfall that leads into a smaller pool. In the pool are several turtle-ducks, swimming around contentedly. Two large trees grow in the corners, completely shading the square area. The wind blows softly and causes leaves to fall to the ground.

His father is sitting on a blanket, wearing plain black robes. His hair is down, except for the strands on top that are pulled back from his face, tied unobtrusively. He wears no topknot; he wears no jewelry. Azulon watches as the turtle-ducks peacefully swim and groom each other. There is no smile on his face, but there is softness in his eyes.

The younger firebender approaches him quietly and sits next to him. His father's eyes flicker over to him, but he does not say anything.

"You asked for me?" Ozai asks after a minute of watching the turtle-ducks.

Azulon shifts a bit. "Yes," he replies. "I wished to talk to you about a matter of importance. I have just received from the Academy, detailing Princess Azula's achievements."

When Ozai adds nothing, he continues. "Her instructors tell me she has nothing less than wonderful in all her courses. Her firebending instructor wished to tell me that she is very advanced. Soon, the instructor will have nothing left to teach her."

The Fire Lord makes a quick beckoning motion with his right hand and in a moment a servant is kneeling there, eyes cast at the ground. "Bring me a pai-sho board," Azulon orders. The man scurries away.

Ozai rubs his temples. "I do not wish to play a game of pai-sho, father."

"The board is not for you, Prince Ozai. Do not worry yourself." The older man smiles. "We were talking about the Princess Azula, were we not? Yes, yes. I wanted to let you know her progress in her courses and in firebending. You should be proud of her," the Fire Lord advises his son.

He makes a noncommittal noise and leans back on his hands. "Yes," he seems to agree.

Azulon's smile is a tad ironic. "That, however, is not why I called you here."

The servant comes back out and sets another blanket next to them. He places the pai-sho board on top of it and carefully arranges the tiles in their correct places. In the middle of the board is the red dragon tile, flanked by the wheel and white dragon. He bows before moving back to his position by the door that leads inwards.

Ozai waits until the man is done before asking his father, "What did you call me here to discuss, Fire Lord?"

His father makes a small noise in the back of his throat. It is the sort of noise that a man makes when he is considering his next move in a game of pai-sho. "I wished to talk to you about your heir, the Prince Zuko."

"My heir?" Ozai asks warily.

Azulon nods slowly. "I was thinking… in light of Lu Ten's death, I am not sure that Prince Zuko is the correct choice any longer."

Ozai looks at him blankly for a moment before responding. "Who would you have me choose?" his son asks with bitterness in his voice. "There is no one else."

A cat-panda appears on the railing that surrounds the walkway. She is a mix of orange and black swirls, and her tail twists from side to side as she examines the turtle-ducks in the pond. The two men sit still and watch her curiously. The cat-panda jumps off and walks over to pond. She attempts to swat at the turtle-ducks, but they evade her and start quacking loudly.

Azulon moves his hands in a shooing motion. "Go away, little cat-panda. Leave the turtle-ducks alone."

Instead, the she moves closer to them, interest peaked by the sound of the Fire Lord's voice. She sniffs at his outstretched hand before nudging her head against it. As Azulon smiles and absently pets her, he says, "You could always choose your daughter, the Princess Azula. She is capable, and the first-born also." The cat-panda begins to purr.

Ozai's face turns into a parody of a scowl. "I would not allow such a thing," he warns in a low voice. "You know that the Princess Azula is not a full member of the family."

"I have always tolerated the Princess Azula. Indeed, she is quite a young woman now. Her firebending skills greatly exceed those of her brother." Azulon comments off-handedly. The cat-panda wanders away haughtily when he ceases to pet her.

Ozai stands. "I will not accept her as my heir," he says in a tone of finality. "May I be excused now, Fire Lord Azulon?"

Azulon waves his hand at him dismissively. "Of course, my son. I simply wanted to mention my thoughts to you. They are truly of no importance."

The prince bows to his father and begins to walk away.

"Oh, Prince Ozai? Would you ask Prince Zuko to come and visit me?"

Ozai stops walking. "Prince Zuko?" he asks guardedly.

The Fire Lord nods, although his son's back is facing him. "Yes," he answers. "I believe that it is time the Prince Zuko learns to play pai-sho. It is a mark of intelligence and greatness, the ability to play pai-sho well. Send him to me."

The younger firebender hesitates for a long moment before turning around. "Father," he begins in a nervous voice.

Azulon simply looks at him for a moment before smiling. The smile is not kind, nor is it magnanimous. It is the smile of a man who knows he has won. "Yes, my son?" he asks innocently.

In the background the water trickles softly into the pool and turtle-ducks make soft quacking noises to each other. A breeze passes through and causes dozens of red and orange leaves to flutter uselessly to the ground. "Nevermind," Ozai says. "I will send Prince Zuko to you immediately."

"Thank you, my son. You may leave me now."

Ozai turns back around and opens the sliding door that leads back into the hallways of the main palace. His eyes are not narrowed now angry; they are simply thoughtful and scheming.

The prince smiles slowly but mischievously. "I have always endeavored to please you, Fire Lord Azulon."

* * *

8.

The room is filled with the soft sounds of the bristles of a brush pressing against paper, writing intricate characters quickly and efficiently. The night is otherwise quiet and still; cricket-flies chirp outside the window, rustling the grass. Dim light shines in through the paper window, and a tenuously flickering candle sits on the table where the man is writing. His golden eyes scan what he has written so far before nodding and setting the brush down.

He leans back and connects his hands, stretching his back. The cracking sounds resonate loudly in the quiet room.

His hair is brown, between dark and light but not quite medium, and a beard adorns the lower half of his face. His robes are red and gold, comfortable at-home clothes, not formal at all. His lips tilt a bit as he moves forward to pick up the brush and dip it into the inkwell.

Someone knocks on the door, quietly but briskly.

The man pauses for a moment before dropping the brush and walking over to the door that leads outside to the courtyard near his study. He slides it open tentatively. Cold air rushes in as the gap increases.

Slowly, a face is revealed. It is a familiar face, one from his past and one that he has not seen in many years. Zhao observes the man for a moment. "Hello, Master Jeong Jeong," he says smoothly, stepping aside and bowing.

Jeong Jeong nods his head and walks into the room. Zhao closes the door quietly. The wood snaps curtly as the door touches the wall.

When he turns around he sees his old master sitting on the cushion in front of the table, and the younger firebender shakes his head silently, a small smile on his face. "It has been a long time since I have last seen you, old Master," Zhao says as he walks back to his place. "To what do I owe the honor?"

The other man raises one eyebrow. "Have you no manners? Will you not offer me tea?"

Zhao inclines his head, hiding his growing smile. "I apologize," he murmurs, "I must have forgotten myself." His deft fingers pick up a small bell that lies beneath the table, and rings it. The sound is loud and echoes through the room.

In only a few moments, a servant opens the door, kneeling on the ground. "Is there something that you require, master Zhao?" the young woman asks quietly, head bowed to the ground.

"I would be very grateful, Meiling, if you would bring Master Jeong Jeong and I some tea." The servant further inclines her head before the door snaps shut. They can both hear the sound of her tiny feet scurrying down the hallway.

The Commander observes his old firebending teacher. His face is the same as it always was, but there is a tension there he does not understand. His eyes are harder and they stare back at him, taking in his own form. Slowly, Jeong Jeong smiles. "You have not disappointed me, young Zhao." The character of his master has tempered… there is something different in him. What is it?

Zhao closes his eyes and shrugs, seemingly nonchalant. "I have always endeavored to please you, Master Jeong Jeong." He opens his eyes to golden slits and watches as Jeong Jeong smiles a bit in return. It is a small smile, full of memories from long ago.

The door slides open almost silently. Meiling is there, holding a tray with a teapot and two cups. She shuffles over to the table and places it silently, carefully moving Zhao's documents to the side. Both men watch as she pours the tea, flavored with orange rind, into the cups. Finally, she bows and leaves.

Jeong Jeong reaches out and takes his teacup. He then raises it to his lips and takes a sip. Zhao watches for a moment before the other man opens his eyes. "This is not bad," he says.

"I enjoy it," Zhao comments. He takes a sip from his own cup before setting it back down on the table. The fingers of his left hand clench at his side. His legs are folded under him and he feels restless. "Why have you come to see me, Master Jeong Jeong? I know this is not an idle visit."

The old firebender looks away, the teacup still in his hands. "I have come to ask a favor of you, young Zhao. Several favors, truly. It is my hope that you can succeed where I have but failed."

There are lines on Jeong Jeong's face where they had once been smooth skin. Years, so many years, have passed since they have seen each other. Zhao remembers his lessons well, and often thinks on his old master. The haunted look is still there, still in his eyes, and it is both familiar and unrecognizable.

"What has happened to you, Master Jeong Jeong?" Zhao asks in a quiet voice. The old man will not meet his eyes.

The scarred man shifts uncomfortably. He takes a leisurely sip of tea before speaking. "Many things, young Zhao. Many things have come to pass since I have last seen you."

In the background the cricket-flies chirp. The sound is soothing. Zhao's eyes harden, and his fist unclenches and clenches. "What do you need of me, Master?"

"In several months a lone woman will the Southern Water Tribe. She is beautiful. Her skin is pale enough to pass for a Fire Nation citizen, and her eyes can be explained by bad heritage."

Zhao frowns. "Why do you tell me this?" he wants to know.

Jeong Jeong's head turns and finally their eyes meet. There is both harshness and despair in those of the old firebender. "I need you to get her a position in the Royal Palace; I also need you to retrieve something for us from the Southern Water Tribe."

His brows furrow deeper. "I do not understand, Master."

The man sighs. His shoulders slump slightly, but there is still determination in his eyes. Determination and something else. "I have done things, young Zhao, that I now regret. I have done things in the name of the Fire Nation that should have never been done. I have learned that war is chaos and that it is evil. Do you not think the same?"

Zhao says nothing.

"I know you do, young Zhao, for I taught you well. I also know that you have other incentives to over throw the Royal Family… do you not?"

Silence reigns. The Commander looks away.

Jeong Jeong smiles, but it is not a joyful smile. It is not cruel, either. It is simply a smile. "You know that something must be done, and we have endeavored to do this. But our efforts have not been successful so far. We need your assistance, young Zhao."

"Who are you?" His mouth is filled with raw bitterness.

The man takes a sip of his tea. "You know me. I am Master Jeong Jeong."

He snorts. "You know what I mean. Who are you?"

"We call ourselves the Order of the White Lotus. Our mission is to bring peace to a war-ridden world. We wish to end this war of lifetimes, because we will never win." Gold meets gold in a clash of wills.

At last, Zhao looks away. "Why have you not told me this before? Have you not trusted me?"

Jeong Jeong shakes his head. "Do not pretend you do not know of us; you are not a stupid boy. You have known for some time, yes?" Zhao closes his eyes for a moment. "I have always trusted you, my old student. But we did not wish to involve outsiders. It is only now that we truly need your help. You can go places we cannot; you can open doors that are closed to us. You have been to the South Pole before."

The room is again filled with silence. Jeong Jeong sets his teacup on the table. It is empty. Zhao mechanically rings the bell, and the servant girl Meiling quickly enters and takes the tray away. The door shuts quietly behind her; the haunting sound of a wolf-boar hunting in the distance reaches their ears. The howl is hair-raising.

After long minutes Zhao speaks again. "Why do you need to place a woman in the palace? I would have thought you have many agents there."

"We have an agent that is very high up; she is powerful in the Royal Palace. She is called by the Phoenix."

"Why do you need a second agent, then, Master Jeong Jeong?"

The wolf-boar howls again. "She is to ensure that the plan is fully carried out, and she is to watch the Phoenix to make sure she does her job."

Zhao frowns. "Are you unsure of the Phoenix's intentions?"

Jeong Jeong shrugs. Fire burns dimly in the back of his eyes. "We are unsure of everyone's intentions, young Zhao. I have faith that you may help us to succeed."

The younger firebender thinks for a moment. "I can get the woman a place in the palace," he says slowly. "That will not be difficult. And I will assist you in another way that I can. But you must tell me when this began."

The master raises his brows, and then they quickly furrow. There is a bit of the old Jeong Jeong in there, the anger and determination that is absent from this new man. "It will change everything you know. Are you sure that you wish to know the truth?"

"Of course, master. I want to understand."

Jeong Jeong leans back in his seat. "More than one hundred years ago, Fire Lord Sozin lied to the world in the name of greed."

Zhao shifts uncomfortably. "What do you mean?"

The other man's voice is soft but hard. "Fire Lord Sozin told the world that Avatar Roku had betrayed us all by working with the other kingdoms to overthrow the Fire Nation. This was not true. Fire Lord Sozin told the world that he defeated Avatar Roku to stop him from destroying the Fire Nation. This was not true."

The world crashes down with the words of an old man. His eyes cannot focus and there is a slight roaring in his ears.

"Fire Lord Sozin told the world that the new Avatar would be an airbender. This was true. Fire Lord Azulon told the world two months ago that the Avatar had been cornered and killed in the Earth Kingdom while in the Avatar State. He told the world that the Avatar had been a weak old man; he told the world that Avatar was forever dead." Jeong Jeong smiles, and it is now cruel. "This was untrue. The Avatar has not been found.

"The cycle continues. Somewhere, the Avatar lives on."

* * *

9.

The air is fresh, cool but not cold. The sun shines harshly on the princess, although some clouds hang low in the sky. They are the white, puffy clouds of the end of winter. Various birds chirp in the distance; the grass is green and long, as it is after a long shower of rain. Azula closes her eyes and concentrates on the world around her – the way the spring feels on her skin.

It feels how she imagines love feels.

In a lightning-fast movement, she pushes her hand forward and blue-white fire spurts from it powerfully. With a quick breath she begins her morning practice. Her hands shape the fire and move it from side to side – when she kicks her foot out, the fire turns into nothing. It comes from air and sheer will and turns to nothing.

The sun only fuels her strength. She goes through the fast movements of a firebending pattern before slowly segueing into a slower waterbending pattern that she had read about in the library. Her hands gently lead the fire in a circle before forcing it forward. It explodes in a shower of white-hot sparks.

It's ironic, she muses, that fire dies a swift death.

She finishes her practice after several long minutes, breathing quickly and putting her hands on her knees. A hawk-cat circles the air above her, and she smiles as it swoops down to grab a toad-mouse from the high grass. It cries victorious. Azula straightens out her body and rotates her head, relaxing her neck muscles.

The princess turns around and notices several other girls are watching her across the courtyard, whispering between themselves. She frowns contemplatively as the girls cruelly giggle. Trying to ignore them, she walks back toward the school and her room. As she passes them, she catches a snippet of their conversation.

"She didn't even leave school for break, you now," a long-haired girl whispers.

A younger girl giddily giggles. "What, you mean she stayed here?"

"Yeah," the other girl replies, "I guess her parents don't even want her around anymore."

Azula continues to walk. Her fists clench at her side, and her brows furrow angrily. She hates the girls that laugh at her; she's better than them. She knows that she is better than them. She slides the door to the hallway open, ignoring the now-laughs of the gossiping girls behind her.

Her shoe-clad feet make angry claps against the wood floor. Several girls look out of their rooms as she passes, but they quickly disappear and shut their doors. Azula tries to pretend that their disdain and fear doesn't hurt.

The firebender's feet begin to slow when she sees several large, pink chests being carried into a familiar room. A loud and cheerful voice echoes loudly and Azula smiles, and although it is not a large smile, it is a kind of joyous smile. She walks for several more feet before two large men exit the room with upset expressions on their faces. The princess almost laughs; Ty Lee does that to people.

She leans against the doorway and watches as the pink-clad girl bounces around the room, unpacking her wardrobe of pink and red clothes. "I didn't know you were coming back today," Azula says after a while. The smile remains on her face as Ty Lee drops what is in her hands, red robes that slither to the floor quietly, and turns around. The other girl quickly smiles and bounces over.

"Azula!" she exclaims happily. Her arms surround the older girl in a hug. "It is so nice to see you again! I missed you so much!"

The firebender counts to ten and then wriggles out of the other girl's tight grasp. "I missed you too, Ty Lee. It has been much quieter around here without you."

Ty Lee giggles, back-flipping until she is sitting on her bed. She pats the bed next to her, and Azula walks over and sits down on the bed, kicking her shoes off on the way. They make a clatter as they land on the floor, and the acrobat simply watches amusedly. "How was your trip?" Azula asks as she settles, crossing her legs beneath her. She leans back against the wall, and watches as Ty Lee clasps her hands next to her face and closes her eyes. She is the picture of adorable, the girl thinks kindly.

"Oh, it was wonderful! I helped my sister with her wedding preparations. The marriage is not for some time, but they are already putting everything together. Oh, it is so exciting! Everything will be red and pink and wonderful!" Ty Lee opens her eyes and cocks her head to the side. "Oh, what have you been up to, Azula? Did you have a lot of fun around here?"

The smile fades off her face. "It was fine," Azula says quietly, more subdued. Ty Lee watches quizzically.

"What's wrong?" Ty Lee asks in a concerned voice.

"Just some gossip." The princess closes her eyes and turns her head away. "Ty Lee, do you think they hate me?"

The other girl frowns. "Who are you talking about, Azula?"

"My parents. Do you think they hate me?"

The acrobat's eyes widen and she shifts on the bed. Her voice is quieter than normal when she speaks, and there is a thoughtfulness in her that Azula does not see often. "I don't think that they hate you, Azula. How could they hate you?"

Princess Azula snorts unhappily. "They don't love me, so what is stopping them from hating me?" Her voice is loud and angry. For a long moment neither of the girls says anything. When Azula speaks again, her voice is soft and pained. "I am not allowed to return to my home. I have not seen them in years. What does it mean, Ty Lee?" Tears do not stain her face, because she will not cry. "What does it mean?" her voice is but a soft whisper.

Her aura is stained grey with sadness. At its heart, red pulses. Red and blue, Ty Lee sees. They are opposites yet they are the same thing; Azula has the capacity to be both sides of the coin.

The brown-eyed girl moves closer to her friend and tucks an arm around her shoulder. Azula's head falls onto it, and Ty Lee rests her head upon the princess's.

"What does it mean?" Azula desperately wants – needs – to know.

But Ty Lee cannot tell her. "I don't know," she whispers quietly. "I don't know."

* * *

10.

The night is dark and still. Stars twinkle in the distance although dark clouds obscure most of the sky. The air presses heavily on them, full of moisture. Even though it is not hot, Ursa is sweating as she sits on the window-seat and stares out the open window into the courtyard. Her gold eyes are wide open but she sees nothing; there is a wistfulness in them that reveals her thoughts. Ozai can see, even from across the room, that she is remembering the ghosts of her past.

His upper lip curls in distaste. He quickly smoothes his face and puts on a charming smile. "I would expect you to be in bed by now," the prince says in a low voice, walking rapidly across the room to approach Ursa.

The woman turns her head to look at him. Her eyes are still blank, although her eyebrows are lowered slightly. "Ozai," she greets him emptily.

His feet come to a stop as he reaches her. The sound echoes throughout the still air. He raises a hand and brushes the back of his fingers across the smoothness of her porcelain cheek; she frowns and moves away from her husband. "You are so lovely, my wife," he murmurs.

She shifts so that she is sitting straighter than she was before; her eyes are now clearer than they had just been. _Ah!_ he thinks, as he sees a glint of defiance in them. _There it is. _Just when he thought it was gone.

"What are you doing here?" his wife demands in a flat voice.

Ozai smiles, a charming smile to anyone but her, and steps even closer. She scoots backward, up against the wall. His smile turns into a smirk. "Why, I came to make sure that my wife was sleeping safe and sound in her bed."

Ursa looks away. "I don't need you looking in on me," she says. "Go away. Leave me."

His face changes in the span of a moment to look pained. He holds out his hands and gestures around. "Why do you do this, my wife? Why do you spurn my affection?"

She says nothing for a long moment. The lady stares out into the distance, serious and cold. _He's right there, _her mind says. _Wouldn't it be so easy… _but the voice fades away as she begins to speak. "Do not say such things. You hold no affection for me."

Ozai's face darkens. It is a wonder, Ursa thinks, how he can transform so easily. "Make no mistake," he says dangerously, "if I held no affection for you, I would have disposed of you long ago."

Ursa smirks darkly. "We both know you only keep me because I'm useful. I'll do all the dirty work for you, and you'll reap all the benefits."

He lays a hand against her neck; beneath his fingers he can feel her pulse. He had hoped that it would be racing. Instead, it is slow and steady. She looks up at him, defiance in every inch of her body. It is apparent that she hates him. _Good, _he thinks."Oh, my dear, I hold affection for you. One could even say that I loved you."

The woman's hand snaps out and pushes his hand angrily to the side. She snorts and shakes her head. "You do not love me." Ursa stands up and pushes him to the side. She crosses the room and turns to face him. She needs to get away from him, to gain distance. "You never loved me," she says.

Ozai's eyes are a molten gold. "Did you ever even give me a chance?" he wonders.

"What do you mean?" she demands.

He shrugs, brings up a hand, and inspects his hands as if she had not just insulted him. "You never let me love you. You hated me from the beginning. And you will forever hate me, hmm?"

Her eyes turn to fire, and a lone breeze blows through the room. It picks up her hair and sends it flying around her face; the lanterns shake and the candles flicker. "You know that is not true," she says in a low, treacherous voice. "There was a time when I would have given anything for you to love. There was a time when I did give everything. And you gave me nothing in return. You ruined everything."

Ozai watches her for a moment; in her anger she is so beautiful. "You loved me then, didn't you?" he asks cruelly.

The fight drains out of her face as it pales. "Yes," she whispers, looking away, suddenly ashamed.

He walks up to her slowly, as if approaching a deer-horse that may run away at any moment. When he reaches her, he hooks an arm around her waist. Ursa does not fight him, but remains tense in his half-embrace. He moves his face down so their eyes are level; his lips brush hers. "Remind me what that was like, again?" His smirk curves his lips nastily.

Her face twists until she is the image of a monster. Her arms come up to push him away. "You disgust me," she spits out. "I _hate _you."

"I already know that," he says, smirk still in place.

She turns until her back is facing him. "What do you want?" she asks harshly.

Ozai cannot help himself, truly; he moves until he is standing behind her. He takes a piece of her lush brown hair and twirls it around his finger. "I want another child," he says nonchalantly.

Ursa's body stills. "What?" she asks breathlessly. "Why?"

"Father has been getting these… ideas lately. I want some insurance." She says nothing, simply stares blankly. He cannot see her face. "What do you think?" he asks, still twirling her hair.

After a while, her body relaxes. "I will give you no more children," she says finally. Her voice is perilously low and dark.

His hand drops. "We had a deal," he reminds her. His eyes are now sinister.

"You blackmailed me into marriage. You made me love you, and threatened me away from my children. Do you really think I will still keep my side of the bargain?" She shakes her head. "I will not."

The prince's face is blank. "When he makes his move, it will be your fault. I want you to remember that."

Ursa closes her eyes. "When the time comes," she says mysteriously, "I will take care of it."

She points to the closed door that leads back to the hallway. It is golden and adorned with red and black dragons, all of them twisting around each other. "Leave," she orders him.

Ozai's back straightens. The lady almost smiles. Oh, _his _pride is offended? "Leave," she repeats. "And do not come back in here again."

He slowly moves toward the doors. As the prince opens them and prepares to walk out, he smirks and stops. "I can remember a time when you would have welcomed me with open arms. I remember breaking your heart." His smirk grows and he lowers his head as he reminisces. "I think I enjoyed it more than almost anything." He coldly walks through the doors, leaving Ursa alone in the room.

She calmly smoothes down her robes before heading to her writing desk. Carefully she opens a secret drawer on the side and pulls out a special scroll with an address marked on it. The lady takes out a brush and ink from another drawer. She uncorks the inkwell and dips the brush in it. Ursa stills her shaking hands and quickly writes.

_It is time._


End file.
